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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25354033">I'm the only one here</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbaskerville/pseuds/queenbaskerville'>queenbaskerville</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>you wonder where this fellow went [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chuck (TV), White Collar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(for chuck), (for white collar), Alternate Season/Series 04, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Developing Relationship, Episode: s04e03 Diminishing Returns, Episode: s04e04 Parting Shots, Episode: s04e06 Identity Crisis (White Collar), Episode: s04e14 Shoot the Moon (White Collar), F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Misunderstandings, Neal Caffrey &amp; Bryce Larkin Are Twins, Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:41:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25354033</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbaskerville/pseuds/queenbaskerville</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the chaos of Neal's run from Kramer and his equally chaotic return to New York, Neal's just trying to settle back into his life. Peter's transfer back to the white collar crimes division from the evidence warehouse is another welcome return to normalcy. It's not long after, though, that Elizabeth takes a job planning an event for a wealthy couple in Connecticut, which has unexpected emotional ramifications for everyone involved.</p><p>(Neal Caffrey is an only child. Except for the fact that he's not.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey, Neal Caffrey &amp; Mozzie, Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>you wonder where this fellow went [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>AU starting in white collar s04e03. ellen parker, in this universe, did the canon thing helping neal with the raphael, but her connection to neal is different from canon, and neal's backstory is also different from canon. (neal isn't doing the whole "I have to find out who I am via finding out who my dad was, and figure out who killed ellen" stuff.) at the beginning of this fic, the case from s4e03 has concluded, so peter has finally been taken off evidence warehouse duty and has been reassigned back to white collar.</p><p>fic title from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mTRvJ9fugM">"the mother we share" by chvrches</a></p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Elizabeth takes an event-planning job in Connecticut.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my faceclaim for helen larkin is charlotte rampling; this is what charlotte rampling looked like in 2012: <a href="https://media.gettyimages.com/photos/actress-charlotte-rampling-is-photographed-for-self-assignment-on-15-picture-id139407653">picture 1</a>, <a href="https://c8.alamy.com/comp/CMN48N/i-anna-2012-charlotte-rampling-barnaby-southcombe-dir-002-moviestore-CMN48N.jpg">picture 2</a></p><p>i imagined larry larkin's faceclaim as gabriel byrne because it was easy: <a href="https://c8.alamy.com/comp/DJBFNB/i-anna-2012-gabriel-byrne-charlotte-rampling-barnaby-southcombe-dir-DJBFNB.jpg">picture 1</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The drive from her Brooklyn home to New Haven, Connecticut takes an hour and forty-five minutes. It had been one of Peter's distant cousins who recommended Burke Premiere Events to Elizabeth's newest clients. Elizabeth mentally reviews the details that she'd discussed with them over the phone: for their fortieth wedding anniversary, the retired and wealthy couple Lawrence and Helen Larkin would like to host a lavish luncheon for family, friends, professional connections, and former coworkers at Three Saints Park. She has a few planning binders with her, but they've already expressed a few strong preferences, in particular for a vanilla-lemon cream cake paired with one of the higher-end Prosecco brands, as well as anemones in the floral arrangements (because the flower had been central to their wedding, according to Helen). They expect around seventy of the one-hundred invited guests to RSVP, but they're currently planning for eighty-five in case of any unexpected arrivals. </p><p>Normally, this sort of consultation would be something done at Burke Premiere Events offices, but the Larkins are concluding the afternoon with a private evening in at their own home, for which Elizabeth will also be arranging flowers and food, so she's meeting them there to get an eye for the house and its interior design. They should be more at ease in their home, too, which is a plus; people-managing is just as important (if not more so) than anything else Elizabeth does for her career. How people behave, what their relationship dynamics are like, what they want—it's all something she figures out and works with as she talks people in and out of decisions regarding important, financially costly events in their lives.</p><p>The house Elizabeth parks in front of is two stories high with what looks like a livable attic space, the exterior a shade of Celtic blue, with white accenting everything else—the columns on the front porch, the shutters, the front door. The roof is an inoffensive grey that Elizabeth notes is several shades darker than the siding on Elizabeth and Peter's Brooklyn townhouse. White anemones, Elizabeth thinks, would be best given the exterior—though she could change her mind depending on the interior, and it can change again if the couple strongly prefers another color. She really hopes they're not thinking red anemones, but she's already planning ways to make it work if that's what it comes down to.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>Helen Larkin greets Elizabeth at the door. She's a well-dressed woman of about sixty years, Elizabeth guesses, and Elizabeth is only an inch or so below her eye level because Elizabeth's high heels are higher than hers. Her hair, a medium brown—likely dyed a bit to hide any grey hairs—falls in loose waves down to her shoulders, and something about her hooded blue eyes immediately reminds Elizabeth of actress Charlotte Rampling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You must be the event planner," Helen says before Elizabeth can introduce herself. "Come in," she says, and as she steps into the spacious foyer to allow Elizabeth to pass, she calls out, "Larry, the event planner is here!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The man who joins them in the living room—and Elizabeth notes the light-colored wood flooring and the humbly elegant interior design—has eyes just as blue as his wife's, as well as an equally serious, if not even more intense, air about him. His dark hair has a touch of grey at the sides, and he's the sort of man who looks perpetually tired. He still manages a smile as he shakes Elizabeth's hand, though.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Lawrence Larkin," he introduces himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Elizabeth Burke," Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She notes that he isn't the sort of man to say, <em>Lawrence, but you can call me Larry</em>. Formal and professionally polite; not overly warm or congenial. Which is fine. Formal and polite is better than pushily flirty, which is another type of man Elizabeth—and every other woman on the planet—occasionally runs into on the job. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Congratulations again," Elizabeth says, "on your upcoming anniversary."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Thank you," Helen says, resting one hand over Lawrence's. "Have you been married long?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth glances down at her own wedding ring. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Thirteen years now," she says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She knows that her smile is full of every bit of love and pride that she feels when she thinks about Peter, because the Larkins soften in response to it. Imperceptibly so, if one wasn't looking for it. A happy enough marriage, then. They're not resentful of her, or of each other; at least, not at the moment. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth opens one of the binders she has rested on the coffee table between them and they get down to business. Event planning is complicated, detailed work—and part of Elizabeth's job is to make it look easy, make it run smoothly, and she does, helped along by the fact that the Larkins seem to have done this sort of thing many times before. They're firm and decisive in what they want and don't want, they know their budget, and they balance patience and attention to detail with not being too micromanaging. A <em>little</em> micromanaging, but not too much. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lawrence excuses himself to take a phone call, and Helen guides Elizabeth around the downstairs area while they return, moving through a number of airy and clean living spaces—including the kitchen with its stainless steel refrigerator and marble countertops—concluding with the living room they'd been sitting in before. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's all going completely fine for Elizabeth until the photographs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She'd ignored the few photos on the walls during her first walk-through of the house, choosing instead to evaluate the colors and decorations and furnishings with an event planner's eye, but now that they've come to a stop in the living room again, her walk around the room is more leisurely, and she actually looks at the faces peering back at her. A wedding photo of Helen and Lawrence, likely in their mid-twenties. A photo of Helen, Lawrence, and a dark-haired, blue-eyed boy of about seven years old on what's probably the Staten Island Ferry, with the Statue of Liberty behind them and wind sweeping their hair all about. And—the one that makes her startle—a photo of <em>Neal</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He looks a bit young, and his hair is longer than Elizabeth is used to seeing on Neal—some of it is tucked behind his ears, and she can see that it curls up a little at the base of his neck—but it's him. She supposes he doesn't usually smile like that, either—this is a small, polite, friendly smile, something not fake but not anything more than mild, either. When Neal smiles at Elizabeth it's often a wide grin, sometimes his con smile, but usually genuinely delighted. His small smiles, in front of her, aren’t like this one; they’re only ever quietly but still fervently pleased.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth doesn't even realize she had instinctively picked up the picture frame until Helen is at her side.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"That's our son, Bryce," Helen says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>No, it's not,</em> Elizabeth thinks, just as she's thinking, <em>Bryce?</em> and wondering if she's found something about Neal's past that not even Peter has uncovered in the decade since he first encountered Neal Caffrey. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It takes every amount of strength she has not to keep the bewilderment and shock off of her face. She has to hide her mounting excitement, too—If this is more than just a coincidental resemblance—and it <em>has</em> to be more; he looks <em>just</em> like Neal—then Elizabeth has just discovered Neal's <em>parents</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I expect he's already RSVP'd, then?" Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She feels a sharp thrill at the idea of catching Neal out on a con, the con being whatever excuse he cooks up for asking Peter to let him outside his radius for an afternoon. Neal doesn't outright lie to Peter, Elizabeth knows, so he'll probably find something interesting going on that day—Yale has a nice art gallery, Elizabeth remembers—and he'll convince Peter to escort him there. Then, she imagines, Neal will inexplicably slip away, Peter will frantically track him down, and Peter will find him just as he's leaving from briefly showing his face at Three Saints Park. Neal knows Peter well enough that he might even have it timed down to the minute he expects Peter to arrive, and he'll be chatting with a guest he barely knows, so when he says something like, "I just heard a friend was in town," Peter will be furious at him for running off but will chalk it up to Neal's criminal connections and probably let it go if nothing else seems to be going on, which it won't be, since Neal won't actually be up to anything criminal. This is, of course, when Elizabeth would come into play, stopping them before they could leave, smiling innocently at Neal, who'll be hiding his shock, hoping she doesn't know anything, and she'll think, by then, of something smart to say for the big reveal. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Helen, too solemn, too serious, interrupts her imagination, nipping her excitement in the bud before it can grow any further, and what she says makes Elizabeth's stomach drop.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"He passed away five years ago," Helen says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh," Elizabeth says, instead of, <em>What?</em> or instead of, <em>But I just had lunch with him yesterday</em>.  "I'm so sorry," she says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She should put the picture down. She can't let go of it. Neal smiles back up at her. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's Neal, and he faked his death? Or—Elizabeth has the wild thought that maybe his parents are in on it, that they're pretending he's dead. But what for? </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It must not be him. That's the third option. It's an uncanny resemblance, and it's not him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Helen and Elizabeth both turn when Lawrence walks back in, and he frowns at the picture frame Elizabeth is still holding.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"She doesn't want to hear about that," Lawrence says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"She asked about the guest list," Helen says, her frown equally severe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth watches Lawrence's expression flicker, his need for privacy and distance conflicting, for a moment, with his grief.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well," Lawrence says, "he can't come."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The joke, if it is one, falls flat. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Who was calling?" Helen asks after a tense moment of silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lawrence explains something about an acquaintance of theirs that Elizabeth doesn't really pay attention to. Her mind races. She manages to politely smile at Helen when Helen excuses herself to talk about the call with her husband, and she makes a show of putting the photograph back. When they've both left the room, Elizabeth makes a dive for her purse and hurriedly gets her phone out. She startles at her own lock screen. She'd set this picture as her lock screen last year when she'd taken it: Peter and Neal, who looked like they were going to prom in their matching tuxes and bowties. They'd been preparing to do some sort of undercover thing involving Mozzie and the mob. Peter had explained what he'd learned about Mozzie's childhood to her later. Now Elizabeth is questioning Neal's childhood and looking down, again, at a photograph of his smiling face. She brushes the memory away and quickly uses her phone to take a picture of the photograph she'd been holding, and then, on impulse, she takes a picture of the photo of Helen, Lawrence, and young Bryce on the Staten Island Ferry, too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She wants to text the pictures to Peter immediately, but she holds back, if only because he'll probably call her and she can't take the call right now. She doesn't even know what she would say. No, she'll wait until she gets home; maybe she'll leave work early if she can pry Peter away from his office and make him do the same. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When Helen and Lawrence return, apologetic and ready to return to planning the event, Elizabeth almost confesses, almost shows them her phone lock screen. They both look so worn out. Unless Neal happened to learn his con skills from them, they're not lying—they're truly grieving, and they're pulling themselves together for the sake of professionalism. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth guides them back to the binders and the decision-making. She allows herself to be drawn into event planning, but she can't stop thinking. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Neal, what did you do? </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>If it's Neal in the photo—if Neal really did fake his death—<em>How could you do this to them?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's not until Elizabeth has said goodbye to Helen and Lawrence and gotten back in her car that she realizes the important question might not be <em>how</em>. Maybe it's <em>why.</em> Matthew Keller had been Neal's enemy, and he'd had the audacity and the power to kidnap both a federal agent and a federal agent's wife. If Neal had more enemies like that, what would they do to his parents? Maybe he's protecting them. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It better be that, she thinks. It better have been protection. She can't imagine Neal hurting good people like this for no good reason. <em>Her</em> Neal wouldn't do something like that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She calls Peter and leaves him a voicemail when he doesn't answer. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hey, hon," she says. "Is there any way you could be home early today? Let me know. Love you. Bye."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She'll get to the bottom of this. <em>They'll</em> get to the bottom of this, her and Peter, they both will. One way or another.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the larkin family living in new haven is an homage to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/9903776/chapters/22198016">"false faces" by distinctive_pineapples</a> though it should be known that my knowledge of new haven real estate (and rich people in general) is limited to the bare minimum of google searches</p><p>elizabeth's phone wallpaper being the "prom" picture of peter and neal is an homage to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/14103306/chapters/32494773">"fill in the blanks" by fluencca</a></p><p>timeline details for this fic:<br/>1999 Bryce and Chuck meet at Stanford<br/>2002 Bryce is recruited to the CIA; Neal and Mozzie start trying to scam Adler; Peter starts his 3-year chase of Neal<br/>2003 Bryce gets Chuck expelled to protect him from the CIA<br/>2005 Neal is arrested by Peter and begins his 4-year prison sentence<br/>2007 Bryce’s fake death and funeral<br/>2009 Bryce’s real death; Neal gets his work release deal<br/>2011 Chuck and Sarah get married; they start their own freelance spy organization (Carmichael Industries)<br/>2012 Neal runs from Kramer to Cape Verde; Chuck canon ends; Neal and Mozzie come back w/ Peter's help; this fic begins</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Neal and Ellen have a chat. Peter checks his voicemail. Elizabeth and Peter stay up late.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"How was the party?" Ellen asks.</p><p>Neal pours them each a glass of wine. They're seated at the table in his apartment, the moon keeping an eye on them from outside. Neal had come back his apartment hours ago from Peter and Elizabeth's, where the team had gathered to congratulate Peter on his return to white collar. The Sophie Covington case had been exactly what they needed—a high-profile success that Peter had been integral to solving. The relief of Peter's return had kept Neal in high spirits the whole time, even when his apology to Sara for leaving revealed just how much he'd hurt her. </p><p></p><div>
  <p>"It was great," Neal says, and he regales Ellen with the story of the case. He keeps it as light as possible, focusing on Peter's role more than his own.</p>
  <p>Even so, at the end, Ellen says, with some distaste, "He asked you to—seduce that woman.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's just undercover work," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I know," Ellen says, "but does that happen often? They make you seduce people?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal feels the onset of shame curdling in his stomach. He shoves it down. He doesn't <em>need</em> Ellen's approval, he reminds himself, even as he tries to get it back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I used to do it for cons, too," he admits, "but I'm—doing it for good reasons now; I was trying to protect her—"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, Neal, I'm not mad at you," Ellen interrupts. "I just don't think it's right that the FBI can demand that of you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal's understanding of their conversation completely reverses, and he has to stop himself from showing his surprise.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's not like that," he says. "I liked Sophie."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"And are you always in so much danger?" Ellen continues. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal had tried to downplay the danger this time, and more often enough they've got ordinary, boring mortgage fraud to work with, but he supposes that, yes, things are often a little fraught in the white collar crimes division.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>To be fair,</em> Neal thinks, <em>when I was finally actually shot, it wasn't on the job.</em> But he knows that that's not what Ellen wants to hear.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I promise I'm being careful," he says, making eye contact and lowering his voice to a more serious, reassuring tone. "And," he adds, "I've got Peter to watch my back."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ellen huffs a little but clearly relents; her shoulders become less tense as she leans back in her seat. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It took some convincing from Burke's wife to get me to trust him with our pager, you know," she remarks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal settles into his own seat and listens with rapt attention while Ellen tells him about it. They hadn't discussed her role in his return much, preferring instead to spend their time this past month talking about more pleasant things. Neal had been more than happy to talk about things that would bring a smile to her face. Ellen's expression had pulled into a tight, worried frown every time she'd seen Neal limping on his cane in the three weeks it had taken before his leg was well enough to walk without it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm sorry if I put you in a tough spot when I came to see you," Neal says, meaning the Raphael he'd retrieved, and meaning the harassment he's sure she received from Kramer and he knows she received from Collins after him. Peter and Elizabeth probably weren't welcome faces either, after all that, even though she'd been convinced in the end. So much disturbance and attention that, as she'd already told him a while ago, the marshals would be moving her. Two days from now, she’d be gone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It was worth it to see you again and help you stay safe," Ellen says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal will go to see her off when she leaves, but that will probably be the last time they see each other. Neal doesn't have the Raphael anymore as an excuse to someday track her down again. He has half a mind to retrieve something from an old cache and give it to her, just because, but it wouldn't be fair to disturb her life again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Maybe this next place will stick," Neal says. He grins. "At least Peter won't be around to ask you tough questions, right?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"His questions weren't all that tough," Ellen says. "Give me some credit."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal's expression turns curious, so Ellen elaborates.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He knows that I’m in WitSec,” Ellen says, “and it seemed like he guessed my former profession. But that's really all he knows."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal himself has only guessed that she was probably a cop before—she’s in WitSec for a reason, and Neal only knows she’s in WitSec at all because he’d researched her thoroughly before he’d found her again in his adulthood. Ellen is too smart to have voluntarily shared her WitSec status and her past life with a student, even one she’d become close enough to that she was someone he trusted to take care of a stolen Raphael.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"He doesn’t know about me?” Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I was a substitute teacher at a <em>lot</em> of schools,” Ellen says. “The marshals moved me around a few times, and big cities have so many schools, public and private, and for all grade levels...”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal nods, understanding at once the magnitude of information Peter would have to sort through but at the same time how the entire world had just shrunk to a handful of cities.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“If he even guessed that that’s how we know each other—and I suppose he might’ve, given that he’s Peter Burke,” Ellen says wryly, “at best, he’s narrowed down where you’re from by a hair.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” Neal says, “if Peter figured out the truth about me. He already knows I never graduated high school.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“But you don’t like it,” Ellen assesses. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“There’s a certain safety in anonymity,” Neal says. “What little of it I have left, I guess.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“More than most, I think,” Ellen says. She lets it go unsaid that she’s in a similar boat. “There’s no shame in how you grew up, Neal.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I’m not ashamed,” Neal says. “You know, it’s probably a crime to go to prison under a false name?”</p>
  <p>There's no <em>probably</em> about it. Neal knows exactly what it took to pull of that particular case of identity fraud—a forged birth certificate, for one thing. He doesn't really think, after all this time, that Peter would try to prosecute him for that. But he doesn't know exactly how Peter would react to it, either. It's important to Peter that Neal doesn't lie to him—but if his name is a lie, what then?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You would know,” Ellen says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal is reminded of Sara Ellis telling him once that he’s an expert on prison. But Ellen sounds sadder for him than anything else. He watches as she puts it aside. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“And you’re changing the subject,” she says. “You think Burke would find a way to charge you for that?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No,” Neal admits. He doesn't want to burn the goodwill Peter has with Ellen, and it helps that <em>no</em> is the truth. He continues, explaining, “But there’s a certain allure when I’m a guy from anywhere. Guy from nowhere, on the other hand...”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You’re not from nowhere,” Ellen says. “And why the need for allure?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“How else am I supposed to keep him interested?” Neal flashes her a grin. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He’s essentially your parole officer; he doesn’t need to find you interesting,” Ellen says. “You’re part of his job.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>There's no easy response to that. Everything about Neal's "parole" is complicated, and, in the beginning, it <em>had</em> hung on the fragile thread of Peter's interest. He'd had to be talked into it—even now, Neal doesn't know why it took Peter months to decide on an answer, and why that answer had been yes—and Peter wouldn't have been satisfied with any CI. He'd wanted Neal Caffrey. The Neal Caffrey that Peter had investigated was mysterious, interesting, full of wit, always pushing it. Peter wanted, too, for Neal Caffrey to be someone who could stop pushing quite so hard—he wanted Neal to be a man, not a con. But a man isn't that useful as a criminal informant, is he? It's the con who keeps Peter on his toes, frustrating and thrilling him in equal measure. And maybe it was an excuse Neal made to himself to avoid—something. He doesn't know what. But he's going to have to figure out who he needs to be to make this work, now that he's not going anywhere. Now that he really knows that this—this work, this deal, this place—is it for him. Now that he knows where home might be. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Peter’s always chasing me," Neal tries to explain. "That’s part of how we work."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He can see that it's going to take more than that to make Ellen understand, so he doesn't even try. He just moves on and focuses on pouring the truth into his voice, hoping to at least get this one thing across. Peter likes the chase, and sometimes Neal had liked it, too, but...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm not running anymore," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He lets that statement hang in the air before he lightens his tone. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Wouldn’t want him to get too bored,” Neal jokes. “If this mystery is something for him to play with for a little while, I’m okay with that.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“But it’s a mystery you’re hoping he won’t solve,” Ellen says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal knows he’s being a bit ridiculous. Peter found out last year during the Detroit mob case that Mozzie had grown up in an orphanage and run away at a young age, and he hadn’t judged him for it. Neal's childhood—group homes and foster care and then running away—is basically the same thing. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But it’s not like Peter has <em>asked</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Before Neal had to run, there was a time he’d promised Peter he’d tell him “everything.” During all their lunches together in the evidence warehouse yard, Neal had waited, wondering if now would be the time that Peter cashed in on that promise, and wondering what Peter would want “everything” to mean. But Peter had preferred to spend their sixty minutes together talking about cases or having idle chitchat about everyday things. Neal had thought at first that maybe it was because—despite Neal’s attempts to hide it—Peter had noticed how tense he felt at first in the “picnic area,” fenced in by barbed wire. Neal joked about the reminder of a prison yard, but it had been one of those jokes that came from truth, and maybe Peter had noticed and had tried to put Neal at ease. Even towards the end of Peter’s time at the evidence warehouse, though, Peter had never brought anything serious up. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ellen’s leaving soon enough. With everything that’s happened, maybe Peter will forget, maybe Peter has already forgotten.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal can’t, with confidence, say anything like, <em>I know who I am.</em> But he’ll save his uncertainties on that front for another time. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Why go drudging up the past?” Neal says. “That’s not Neal Caffrey.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The past stays buried. The only way through is forward. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>And if it makes Neal feel safer to keep a few of the secrets he has left, well, who could blame him, really? </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter, maybe, Neal admits to himself. Sometimes Peter's emphasis on truth and honesty leaves Neal feeling uncomfortably exposed. But not Ellen. Ellen can't blame him for that. And it's clear, by the softness of her eyes, that she doesn't.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Tell me something about this apartment I haven't heard before," Ellen says. "Please tell me there's a secret passageway built-in somewhere."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I can do better than tell you," Neal says. He offers her a grin and his outstretched hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The next day—Peter's first day back to the office—Neal brings Peter some of June's Italian roast in a thermos and picks up a chocolate chip muffin from a bakery near the building that Peter likes. He gets to work earlier than usual, hoping to leave it on Peter's desk as a surprise for him, but he should've known Peter would be here early, too. He's already got half the Harvard crew swarming him to welcome him back—everyone who hadn't been to their small gathering yesterday—while Jonas and Diana watch with amusement from their own desks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Peter," Neal calls, and the little swarm of agents parts for him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Morning, Neal," Peter says. He's grinning even before he spots what's in Neal's hands. "Is that for me?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal shrugs, smiling, and hands it over. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Welcome back," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The rest of the morning passes uneventfully. They take lunch together in Peter's office, and it's clear that both of them are relishing the time together surrounded by glass walls instead of barbed wire fencing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I missed a call from El," Peter says, frowning around a bite of a turkey club sandwich. He listens to the voicemail. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal pretends like he isn't trying to eavesdrop. He can't really make out what she's saying, but Peter's frown deepens, which is signal enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"She wants to know if I can come home early today," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal raises his eyebrow. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"On your first day back?" he says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm guessing her meeting with that new client this morning didn't go well," Peter says with a sigh. "Rich couple. The paycheck was supposed to be really nice. I think it was a party for a fortieth wedding anniversary?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal whistles.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Forty years," he says. "That's a long time."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah, well, some people keep the promises they make," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal deliberately doesn't react. What the hell is that supposed to mean?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Maybe it's meant to needle Neal about the promise to Peter before he left about telling him everything, answering his questions? What, he wants Neal to volunteer to tell him things, when Neal doesn't even know what Peter wants to hear?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Or, maybe, Neal's being paranoid. Peter said it absentmindedly enough that it might not mean anything. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal decides not to say anything else and let Peter guide the conversation from there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Have you talked to Sophie lately?” Peter asks. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal blinks at him in surprise. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Sophie Covington?” Neal says. "No. Why, have you?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He doesn't ask, <em>Is she alright? Has something happened?</em> because he knows Peter is about to tell him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I haven’t,” Peter says, “but you and her seemed to hit it off, so—”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ah. Peter’s playing matchmaker again. Neal tries not to be amused and fails. It’s still a funny role to see Peter in. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“She liked somebody who wasn’t real,” Neal says. Never mind that Neal had started to like her back. He‘d known better than to hope for anything more than the gift of a few smiles and a kiss before the inevitable conclusion. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“But some of it was,” Peter says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>So he’d overheard that conversation. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“She and I both knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere, Peter,” Neal says firmly. “We shared paella and a few life-threatening experiences. We said goodbye. I hope she finds someone a little less complicated.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter frowns, but he moves on to the next item on his mind. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What about Sara?” he says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Peter,” Neal warns, but Peter doesn’t look like he’s giving up, so Neal shakes his head. “It’s over. I’ve hurt Sara enough.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“She knows why you had to run,” Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I know,” Neal says, “but I still did it.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal’s not good for Sara. She deserves so much better than him. Somebody normal, who won’t disappear on her. Neal has just reopened the wounds of somebody whose biggest scars are from a runaway sister. He can’t risk doing that to her again. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>In a way, this isn't good for him, either—Neal himself is a teenage runaway, whose leaving back then had hurt no one. He doesn't need the reminder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Are you going to call Elizabeth back?" Neal asks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter frowns at the change in topic, but he allows it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah, I probably should," he says. He starts to get out of his chair, but Neal's quicker.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's your office, Peter," Neal reminds him. He tosses the remainder of his lunch in the trash and steps out to give Peter some privacy. He could've eaten at his desk, but he's not hungry anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter doesn't end up leaving early, but he's twitchy the rest of the afternoon, and leaves precisely when he's supposed to. There aren't any big cases right now, so it's not unreasonable for Peter to leave on time, but it's unusual for him. If it wasn't for Elizabeth's voicemail, Neal might've chalked it up to Peter getting too used to punching his timecard at the evidence warehouse.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Drive me home?" Neal says when Peter's about to pass his desk.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter gestures with his keys, and Neal hops up from his chair. He'd been keeping an eye on Peter's office and on the time, and he had started quietly packing his own things when Peter got visibly impatient towards the end of the day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Peter," Neal says, finally catching Peter's eye after they've gotten in Peter's Taurus and he still hasn't said anything. "Seriously. Is everything okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter stares at him for a moment before shaking his head. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't know," he says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal's stomach clenches.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Anything I can help with?" Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'll let you know," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The car ride to June's is quiet aside from the radio station Peter puts on, which Neal, for once, doesn't complain about or try to change.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>When they arrive, Neal hesitates before he gets out. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"If you need anything," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter looks absurdly guilty for a second before his expression settles back into deeply troubled. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I know," Peter says. "I'll see you tomorrow."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"See you tomorrow," Neal echoes. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He bounds up the stairs and hopes Mozzie's around. If Neal can bounce his theories off of somebody far more paranoid than himself, maybe things will start looking more reasonable by comparison. Maybe it'll keep him from going crazy with worry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <hr/>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter stares at the five pieces of paper on the kitchen table, his open beer long forgotten. Out of the corner of his eye, Elizabeth stays seated, but she's wringing her hands a little. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>At the office, before she'd come home, Elizabeth had printed out the two pictures she'd taken on her phone of the photographs in the Larkins' house. She'd also, apparently, done some cursory Googling, and in front of Peter are print outs of Lawrence Larkin's LinkedIn page and the profile pictures of Lawrence and Helen Larkin from their Facebook profiles (which were private, so no printouts of anything from the pages themselves). </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Bryce Larkin," Peter murmurs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"He just looks too much like Neal to be a coincidence, right?" Elizabeth says. "And Neal has faked his death before."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal has burned a few aliases that way, it's true, and even Neal Caffrey had "died" once. The faked incident with the shark attack comes to mind.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"While he was on the run, though," Peter says thoughtfully. "I don't know what reason he would've had to do that in prison."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth had recounted to him everything she'd learned from the Larkins today. Helen Larkin had said, <em>He passed away five years ago</em>, which meant it would've been in 2007 or thereabouts. Neal was two years into a four-year sentence in 2007. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Maybe he thought someone was going to come after his family," Elizabeth suggests.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter can't imagine who. But, then again, Peter would've never guessed about what had ended up happening with Adler, or even Keller, for that matter. Elizabeth's suggestion that there could be somebody else who'd threatened to come out of the woodwork doesn't seem too outlandish in comparison. Why, though? What good did faking his death do? If Neal Caffrey had an enemy who had connected him to the Larkin family, what difference would it make if the Larkins thought their son was dead? The enemy, whoever he was, would still know that Neal Caffrey was alive and where he was.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter puts motive aside for now and moves onto another aspect of the <em>Neal is Bryce and he faked his death</em> theory: how?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"He'd have had the resources," Peter muses, "if he'd asked Kate to do it, or passed a message through Kate to Mozzie." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It would've been complicated, though. Not paying off a coroner to fake a death certificate; that part Neal had managed easily enough, it seemed, in the past. But if Neal had faked his death to his parents, there was the matter of the funeral. If there was no body... </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"They didn't say how he died?" Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No," Elizabeth says. "I tried looking Bryce Larkin up, but I didn't find anything."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Falling off a cliff during a hiking accident might've worked. It would probably require a closed-casket funeral, at least. Drowning, the body lost in the river or the sea somewhere. Or, God, maybe even another shark attack—though Peter thinks that's unlikely, if only because he doesn't think Neal would try that twice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I’m gonna get my laptop," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'll get it," Elizabeth says. "Stay here and keep putting that brain of yours to work."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's not even close to the first time that Peter has considered the fact that Neal Caffrey might not be the name that Neal was born with. Once Neal was on-anklet, though, Peter had—for the most part—stopped thinking about it. Neal went to prison under the name Neal Caffrey. If it's truly an alias, it's his favorite, the one that he prefers the most, the same way that Mozzie seems to go by Mozzie more than anything else.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter picks up the print outs of the two photos from the Larkins' house. In one picture, Bryce Larkin offers the camera a casual, polite smile, looking a bit like Neal had when he'd first come to work for Peter—sans wild grin, obviously—when his hair had still been a bit long. In the other picture, there’s a happy family, with a little boy who looks like he could be a young Neal at the center of it all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>For a second, Peter entertains the theory that the Larkins' son Bryce had gone missing in childhood, and that conman Neal Caffrey had swanned in as a young adult, noticed how the dark-haired, blue-eyed boy in the photos could easily have grown up to look something like him, and had tricked the Larkins into believing he was their long-lost son. Neal Caffrey <em>would</em> be the one person who's convincing enough that even a wealthy couple like the Larkins wouldn't think to do a DNA test. Apply people-reading skills, research on the family, acting skills, and, if worst came to worst, a case of partial amnesia, and Peter could see it working, depending on what age the kid went missing. Inheritance and who knows what else would be at Neal's fingertips if he'd pulled something like that off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Motive, though, is where the idea starts to crumble. The Larkins are rich, yes, but they're not unimaginably wealthy. Neal's an internationally renowned art thief. What would he need their money for? And if he'd come across them before he'd made any large scores, Neal wouldn't have yet become the type of person to invest in a con as long as stealing himself a family. Adler had been the long con, not this. Unless, of course, Mozzie had proposed this long con as a practice run—but then, why keep it going as long as 2007? And—Peter mentally gives himself a good shake—Peter doesn't even know if Bryce Larkin had gone missing in childhood. This sort of speculation isn't really much help when he doesn't have all the facts. He sets aside the theory for later.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth returns with his laptop, and he uses VPN to start working remotely, taking advantage of the investigative powers the FBI provides him. He throws himself into it as Elizabeth pulls a chair up next to him to watch. She occasionally gets up to fetch something Peter's sent to the printer. He'd feel guilty about this if she wasn't clearly using the trips to burn some nervous energy. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter doesn't realize how much time he's spent buried in research until Elizabeth's cellphone rings. They both startle, and Elizabeth answers quickly on reflex, without even checking the caller ID. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hello?" she says, and then, "Oh, hi, Neal."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She looks at Peter with wide eyes. Peter makes a panicked abortive gesture. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You're not bothering us at all," she says. "We were just getting some work done."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Whatever Neal says in response to that has Elizabeth glancing at her watch. Peter checks the time on his laptop—damn. Neal had probably said something like, <em>You're both working pretty late, </em>with a wryly skeptical tone<em>.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's been a long day," Elizabeth says. Then, in response to whatever Neal said, she says, "Oh, poor Peter. I bet my voicemail was pretty cryptic, huh? Sorry if his fretting bugged you at work today."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter imagines Neal saying, <em>Not at all</em>, his voice smooth and reassuring. He'll probably follow it up with a question about if everything is alright.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's complicated," Elizabeth says. "We're going to figure it out, though."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She makes some more reassurances to Neal before saying goodnight to him and hanging up. She clutches her phone uncertainly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What is it?" Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm starting to feel a little silly," she admits. "All of this—"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She gestures toward the table and the increasing number of papers spread across it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You don't want to know?" Peter asks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No, I do," Elizabeth says, "but we should just ask him, right? I mean, why not?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's complicated," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I mean, it’s not like we’re investigating a crime here,” Elizabeth says. “It’s his personal life.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Personal life and crime usually go hand in hand with Neal," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Peter," Elizabeth chides.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I just want to get a better idea of what's going on before I start asking him questions," Peter says. "If it's really just something to do with his personal life, whatever it is, I don't want him to feel like I'm accusing him of something. Or like I've—I don't know, backed him into a corner. But if it's like you said, and there's somebody after him, or if it's something else bad we haven't thought of, I need to make sure I ask the right questions."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth takes a moment to consider this before nodding and sitting down. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Talk me through it once before we go to bed," she says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>When Peter starts to protest, she reminds him of the time and that both of them have to work tomorrow. He reluctantly starts gathering up all the print-outs and passes Elizabeth two in particular. He doesn't have to see them to remember what they say, and he speaks as she starts skimming the shorter of the two: Bryce Larkin's obituary. The second is a news article, and it has a professional picture of Bryce that's similar to the one Elizabeth saw in the Larkins' house but not the same photo.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Bryce Larkin, born March 3rd, 1981," Peter says. He can't help the gravity of his tone. "Died September 24th, 2007. A Stanford graduate and an accountant, killed in a bank robbery gone wrong. Survived by his parents, Helen and Lawrence Larkin."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Neal's birthday is April 21st," Elizabeth says. She pauses, before adding, almost indignantly, "He was born in 1978."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's always been a possibility that that's not his real birthday," Peter reminds her. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>All of Neal's aliases had different birthdays, and there'd never been a particular day in the crimes Neal was suspected in that repeated yearly—no consistent celebratory heist, and, as far as Peter could tell, no consistent celebratory day off, either. Like the case with Neal's name, this was something Peter had let go once Neal was on-anklet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal's first birthday with them—the April 21st one—had been spent in prison, after he'd been locked up during the investigation into the plane explosion that had killed Kate Moreau. The second, Elizabeth had surprised Neal by bringing cupcakes into the office, and despite the fact that he and Peter had been on rocky terms at that point, Neal had still been happy, folding sheets of printer paper into origami-esque party hats for Diana and Jones. The third, Neal had been on the run in Cape Verde, and Peter had been trying to figure out where he was.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter doesn't remember specifics about March 3rd of any of the past few years. But as far as events around those times—Kate had died on March 9th, 2010. The disaster with Adler and the Nazi treasure had been around March the following year, if Peter remembers correctly. And the day Peter told Neal to run had been February 28th.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter supposes he can't blame Neal if he's not interested in a March birthday anymore, after the events of the past three years. But the fact that it’s not just the day that’s different, it’s the year, too—</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"He's not thirty-four?" Elizabeth says. "He's—thirty-one?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's not that different," Peter says, though he's disquieted, too. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>A quick mental calculation—Neal had been twenty-four when he'd gone to prison, not twenty-seven. He'd been twenty-one when Peter first started chasing him. It doesn't change anything. And it shouldn't bother him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>But it does, a little.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter glances over at Bryce Larkin's picture in the news article. Neal's face smiles up at Elizabeth, upside-down from where Peter's sitting. Dead at twenty-six.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter has to quell a sudden impulse to call Neal. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You'll have to be up bright and early to pick Neal up for work tomorrow," Elizabeth says, like she's halfway to reading his mind. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter gives her a tired smile. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"We'll talk theories at breakfast," he says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Of course we will," Elizabeth says. She gives him a quick peck on the lips. "Pack everything up. Bedtime."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yes, ma'am," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He shuffles the news article and the obituary to the bottom of the stack of papers before tucking everything in a folder and putting it all away. Peter tries to quiet his buzzing head. He knows that neither of them will fall asleep easily tonight.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i stuck the line about the shark attack in there because i was rereading <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/529325">"the devil and the deep blue sea"</a> by florastuart the other day; i couldn't help it</p><p>i don't know if bryce larkin's birth date and death date were established in canon, so i made them up here. i don't remember ever seeing anything about neal's birthday in the show, so i put neal caffrey's birthday in april, which is the one month of the year that the show was consistently not airing. the timeline of white collar in general is a little screwed up, as it is with most network television, so please forgive me if i'm bending time a bit as i pick and choose dates</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter theorizes. Neal says goodbye to Ellen. The Burkes invite Neal over for dinner.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry about the delay! I just moved back to uni.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter calls Neal in the morning to let him know he's picking him up for work, and he arrives at June's hoping nothing on his face betrays his nervousness. It feels like something about Neal should be different when he walks out the front door now that Peter has seen the picture of Bryce Larkin. Neal's not different, though. He's exactly the same as he was yesterday—including in that he's still prodding at Peter, trying to figure out what's going on with him and Elizabeth, why they'd been so odd yesterday. Peter deflects all his attempts, and Neal seems to give up for now and changes the subject.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>"I need to leave work early today," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Up to no good?" Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal gives him an exasperated look.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Ellen's moving today," Neal says. "I told her I'd see her off."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Some jackass in front of him merges lanes without using his turn signal. Peter resists the urge to honk at him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, where to?" he says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Another one of those exasperated looks. Neal is exceedingly and deliberately patient when he replies.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't know, Peter," Neal says. "Kind of the point of WitSec."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"They're moving her," Peter realizes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"That's what I said," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter resists the urge to point out that Neal hadn't really said anything that would imply somebody was doing more than moving out of their place—most people's first thought isn't WitSec. Neal's more used to the idea being associated with Ellen, that's all. Which raises more than one question.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter chose not to poke into Ellen Parker's past on purpose once he found out she was in Witness Protection. He was trying to save Neal from Collins; he didn't want to put Ellen in danger in the process. It seems like all the attention from law enforcement had been enough to make WitSec want to move her anyway, but Peter could at least assure himself that he'd done his best. Unfortunately, <em>done his best</em> means that he has no idea who Ellen is to Neal. He has no idea what privileges Neal has in this situation, if any at all. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Are you going to be able to stay in touch?" Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No," Neal says. "It's better this way. She'll be safer."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>That doesn't really tell Peter anything—except that this will probably be the last time Neal sees Ellen.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter asks Neal if he wants to take the day off. It's a bit late to ask, since they're almost to work, but Neal could take a cab to June's or Ellen's or wherever. Neal seems warmly surprised by the offer, but he turns him down and follows him into the office. Maybe Neal’s avoiding thinking too much about Ellen leaving, trying to keep his mind occupied?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter's own mind has certainly been racing all morning. He and Elizabeth hadn't been able to talk much at breakfast, but they know there are ultimately only two possible conclusions: either Neal Caffrey is Bryce Larkin or he isn't. When it comes to Neal's past, almost all the facts are about what they don’t know rather than what they do. There’s nothing officially known about Neal’s past in regards to his family, his home life, his hometown, etc. Peter once told Neal that as far as his investigations ever made it, Neal didn't exist before he turned eighteen. It's more true than Peter realized at the time—what Peter hadn't admitted then was that nobody knew anything about Neal before he turned twenty-one, other than rumors a few thefts that seemed like they'd be Neal's style, but if Neal was born in 1981 and not 1978, then he really would've been eighteen.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Putting aside the matter of a potentially fake death, it's the timeline of Bryce Larkin's supposed life that troubles Peter. If there's anybody capable of pulling off the impossible, it's Neal, but even then, it's a stretch for Peter to imagine that Neal was entrenched in a life of white collar crime while earning a degree at Stanford. Bryce Larkin would've been enrolled from 1999 to 2003. If Bryce-Neal had only been travelling and committing crimes during summer break, then maybe, but that just wasn't the case. Neal and Mozzie's attempt to scam Vincent Adler in particular was such a long con that it doesn't make sense with Bryce Larkin's Stanford timeline—if he had been like Kate Moreau and graduated a year early from university, then it would be a different story, but Peter had checked: Bryce Larkin graduated in 2003.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Of course, Neal could have easily forged a college degree. Peter also didn't doubt that Neal was capable of fooling his parents into thinking he was a college student for four years and capable of somehow getting himself into the line of graduates crossing the stage if his parents had attended his graduation. Neal didn't even necessarily need a complex motive for choosing crime over college—Peter knows firsthand the trouble Neal can get into when he's bored. Another point in favor of the Neal-is-Bryce theory: growing up wealthy would explain Neal's seemingly insatiable appetite for the finer things in life.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>But going back further than Stanford—Bryce Larkin had graduated high school; Neal—if Peter remembers correctly—did not. Even assuming Neal could've forged a high school diploma, getting himself in line to walk across the stage and receive a diploma for his parents watching in the audience probably would've been much more difficult for a high school graduation ceremony than for college. This is, of course, assuming that Neal didn't graduate high school.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter knows that Neal holds it as a point of pride by now that he doesn't outright lie to Peter—he can be deceptive, but when he says something, it's the truth in at least one way. He's very careful with his word choice. Sometimes he’ll do that thing where he makes one or two truthful statements, which puts him in the clear in his own mind when Peter incorrectly connects the two—for example, if he asks to leave early and then says that June is having some sort of brunch, he hasn’t said that’s <em>why</em> he wants to leave, he just says that it’s happening. If Peter draws that conclusion, then, in Neal’s opinion, that’s Peter’s problem. Neal sincerely believes he has held up his end of the bargain. It’s one of those <em>letter but not spirit of the law</em> things that he and Neal disagree on. And there are the occasions when Peter makes the mistake of saying, “Tell me you...” and Neal repeats whatever it is, no matter what the actual truth is, because he’s got the excuse that he’s doing what’s asked of him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>So what, <em>exactly</em>, had Neal said back then? Peter recalls immediately that the alias they'd been working on for Neal for that case had been Benjamin Cooper, who was, among other things, the valedictorian of his high school—it takes Peter a bit of a longer time searching back on his computer through files to determine which case it had been and what for. (The thing with the political candidate.) They handled a lot of cases, and this was almost two years ago now. What had Neal said? Hadn't it been something like admitting he hadn't been valedictorian, and Peter had questioned it, and then what had he said? Something like "You have to graduate to be valedictorian," right? Peter supposes Neal could've been picky with his words again—<em>you have to graduate to be valedictorian</em> is a true statement regardless of who the statement is about. It would've been Peter making the assumption that that's why <em>Neal</em> wasn't valedictorian.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter glances through the glass wall of his office down to the bullpen, automatically zeroing in on Neal, who's chatting with Diana at her desk. Maybe Peter's thinking too much like Mozzie, overthinking word choice this much. He needs to go with his gut on this—his people-reading skills, but specifically his Neal-reading skills. Peter could often tell when Neal was bullshitting—it was why Neal’s wordplay didn’t always work on him. And Neal really had seemed like he was telling the truth in that moment about not graduating. Not in a way where he was trying to <em>appear</em> genuine, but actual genuine truth. And what were the benefits of saying he never graduated high school if it wasn't true? Peter supposed Neal could've been trying to lord his intelligence over the Harvard grads, <em>Look what I can do with less,</em> but Neal would've had an easier time making allies in the office if he'd used shared experiences, like pretending to actually <em>be</em> a Harvard grad. Not to mention the stigma surrounding dropping out of school. He had more to lose saying he didn't graduate high school than he had to gain. It had to be true.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Another glance at Neal—back at his desk now—summon's Peter's Inner Elizabeth, echoing what she'd said last night. <em>Just ask him! </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter's reluctance to ask Neal directly is partly out of habit. He's investigated Neal enough times over the years he's been on-anklet that Peter knows how to stay focused at work and keep his private investigation at the back of his head, but it's always been life-threatening or seriously criminal things, like the mess with Kate, and then who killed her, and then the Nazi loot. Something like Neal's personal life, his past—Peter's wrong-footed at the idea he could just ask him. And he meant what he said to Elizabeth—he doesn't want to seem like he's accusing Neal of anything if this is just a misunderstanding, and if he or the Larkins are in danger, Peter has to approach it from the right angle, ask the right questions. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter might as well stay in investigative mode as long as it will serve him. There's one resource who has an expiration date—unless she changed it after Neal came back, Peter still has Ellen's number. He texts her and asks if she's free to meet for lunch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>When he decides to take his lunch break, Neal gets his attention as he passes by his desk.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I’ve just about solved this phone scam," Neal says. “You heading out?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Lunch with Elizabeth," Peter lies.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The smile freezes on Neal's face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Room for a third?" Neal asks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Not today," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Tell Elizabeth I said hello," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I will," Peter lies again, and he tries not to feel horribly guilty.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ellen comes into the city and meets him at one of the places he and Neal frequent near the office. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She won’t take his apology for being part of the reason she’s being moved by the Marshals. She tells him it was worth it to help Neal, and they talk about him for a bit—what he gets up to on the weekends, how much he seems to like New York, how he’s doing at work. Peter waits for the right opportunity to start speaking more seriously and then takes it. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"If I was curious about how you and Neal know each other," Peter says carefully, "is that something you could safely tell me?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She seems a bit surprised by the question.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Neal didn't grow up in Witness Protection, if that's what you're asking," Ellen says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter honestly hadn't even considered that, but it's good to know.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“And it’s not like you’ll be able to track me down with old information like that,” Ellen says. She raises an eyebrow. “You know you could ask him.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I didn’t want to put Neal in a bad position if it wasn’t something he could tell me without putting your identity at risk,” Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He can tell you,” she says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Though it sounds like she’s not sure if he’ll want to. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"When I met him,“ Ellen says eventually, “he didn’t have anyone looking out for him. I’m glad that’s not the case anymore.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You mean a lot to him,” Peter says. “Anybody could see that. But especially how he trusted you with the Raphael.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It probably helped that I caught him stealing from me once and didn’t turn him in,” Ellen says with amusement. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It’s Peter’s turn to be surprised. He can’t help but smile at the idea of Neal caught in the act, giving one of his sheepish grins to someone like Ellen, who seems like she would have a killer <em>are-you-kidding-me</em> mom look.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He takes things from me, too,” Peter says. “He says he likes keeping me on my toes.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He hadn’t been planning on giving any of it back, that one time I caught him,” Ellen says. “and he never stole from me again. But I could imagine something like that—him treating it like a game.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter could ask what it was that Neal tried to take, but she could’ve said by now. He leaves it alone. Instead, he starts telling her a story about more of Neal’s work-related antics, and when it brings a smile to her face, he knows he made the right call. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <hr/>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal makes last-minute arrangements to have lunch with Mozzie, and he arrives to find that Mozzie has already gotten a table in the corner-most area of the little cafe and taken the seat with the best sight lines to all the exits. Neal places an order at the counter for the nicest sandwich this place has and then joins him at the table. Mozzie allows pleasant, idle conversation for a few minutes before he calls Neal on his bullshit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You’re moping,” Mozzie says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I think Peter thinks I’m secretly planning something,” Neal admits. “He’s been weird—like he doesn’t want me to know what he’s looking into.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Mozzie considers this. He sympathetically offers Neal a flask from inside his coat. Neal declines, because he hasn't quite reached the day-drinking stage of misery.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Do you <em>want</em> to be secretly planning something?” Mozzie asks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal knows Mozzie’s only half-joking. Sometimes, if you’re going to get accused of something over and over—if you’re irreversibly wrong in the eyes of everyone else no matter what you do—then you might as well get the rush of actually doing the damn thing you’re always accused of. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Not this time, I think,” Neal says. When he smiles, it’s tired, but it’s real. “Thanks, Moz.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Let me know if you change your mind,” Mozzie says. “I’ll keep our options open.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I just don’t know what he could possibly think I’m doing,” Neal says. “I came back. Isn’t that enough?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He’s a Suit, Neal,” Mozzie says. “You’ll never measure up. He’ll just keep moving the goalposts.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Goalposts?” Neal says. “Mozzie, you hate sports metaphors.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That’s not true,” Mozzie says. “I’m perfectly fine saying things like, ‘These days, you’re always behind the eight ball,’ and ‘We need to make sure we’ve covered all our bases in case things go south again,’ and ‘Constantly suspecting you is the Suit’s wheelhouse,’ and—”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Alright, stop,” Neal says. “The eight ball one doesn’t count. Pool isn’t a sport.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It’s good for winning bets,” Mozzie says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Lots of things are good for winning bets,” Neal says. “And things aren’t going to go south again. I haven’t done anything.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It wasn’t exactly your fault that things went south last time, either,” Mozzie says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>There had been a lot of things that were Neal’s fault. But—Mozzie’s right—not the disaster with Kramer. Not really.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Peter helped me last time,” Neal says. “He risked a lot to make it so that I didn’t have to run anymore.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal’s pointed look carries the unsaid—Peter’s demotion; his career put in jeopardy. Mozzie nods in acknowledgement. It’s probably why he doesn’t say anything about how they wouldn’t have had to run from Cape Verde if Peter hadn’t led Agent Collins there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Instead, he says, “Yeah, when it was Kramer who’d ‘crossed the line.’” </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal remembers: Mozzie had asked why Peter has tracked them down, Neal tried to get Mozzie not to push, Mozzie said he needed to know, and Peter—for one wild, ridiculous, hopeful moment, Neal had thought Peter was going to turn to him and say, <em>Because I love you. </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>Instead, Peter had talked about how what Kramer had done to Neal wasn’t right. And, really, that—in addition to how far Peter had gone to bring him home—spoke volumes enough. It was in Peter’s every action, including how fiercely he’d hugged Neal when he’d seen him. It was in every word Peter didn’t say. There was love in that. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal just had to deal with the fact that the type of love Neal wanted wasn’t something he could ever actually have. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Now he’s looking sideways at you again,” Mozzie says. “Maybe he doesn’t like what he sees.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal tries not to show how much that stings. He shakes his head. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He’s our friend,” he says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Look, I’m not saying we need to jump ship now,” Mozzie says. He lifts his hands placatingly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we won’t jump ship at all. I like it here too, you know. But Cape Verde is burned. We need a new backup plan.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“So I <em>should</em> start secretly planning something,” Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It comes out more resigned than he’d meant it to. He’s tired of running. He really thought he’d come home for good this time. He wants to <em>stay</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“‘There is only one kind of shock worse than the totally unexpected: the expected for which one has refused to prepare.’”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Mary Renault,” Neal murmurs. He drags a hand over his face. “Alright. You’re right. New passports?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“At the bare minimum,” Mozzie says. “How do you feel about Morocco?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It’s not New York. It doesn’t have Peter. Or Elizabeth, or June, or Diana, or Jones.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Plenty of French speakers to talk to while I work on my Arabic,” Neal says. “Good food, great architecture, no extradition treaty. I hear the Fes World Festival of Sacred Music is fantastic.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That’s the spirit,” Mozzie says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When Neal gets back to work, they’re still handling boring mortgage fraud cases. He stays on task, ignores the feeling of Peter’s eyes on him, and keeps his own eyes on the clock. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal leaves work early and pays for a few cab rides—the first to June’s to get some cooking done, and the second to Ellen’s to bring her dinner.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Unfortunately, I didn’t bring enough for the Marshals,” Neal says, indicating the two men keeping guard in their car parked outside. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“They’re not supposed to come in anyway,” Ellen says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal had decided on an elevated version of a stew she taught him to make when he was a kid. It’s still warm in the thermoses he’s carried it in, so he goes ahead and pours it into two bowls. She’s delighted when she recognizes it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Later in the evening, Ellen says, “Peter Burke invited me to lunch today.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>So that’s what he was up to. But why lie about that? Hell, why not ask <em>Neal</em> to invite Ellen to lunch? What could he possibly have to ask her that’s so secret?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Like she can read his mind, Ellen tells him, “He wanted to know if he’d be putting either of us in any danger by asking about how we know each other.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That’s considerate of him,” Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Is that it? Could that be what’s got Peter sneaking around lately? Neal tries not to let himself feel too relieved—it could be something else, after all—but, really, if that’s it, he should be glad. He said himself that this is what he wanted—something generally harmless that Peter can keep himself occupied with.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I said he should ask you,” Ellen says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I wonder how long it’ll take for him to work up to it,” Neal says wryly. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal’s becoming more amused by the second. If he puts aside all his anxiety about—how would Mozzie put it—the mortifying ordeal of being known, it might be fun to watch Peter “secretly” investigate him. The next time he sees Mozzie, Neal will have to tell him that everything he said this afternoon to him was a false alarm (though Neal’s sure Mozzie will work on passports and a backup exit strategy or three anyway).</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal stays at Ellen’s as long as he can. He’s not sure if she’s got plane or train tickets, but he knows she has to go. When it’s time to say goodbye, Ellen draws Neal into a hug, and he holds onto her for a long time. She lets him kiss her forehead after he pulls away. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Take care of yourself, Ellen,” he says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You, too, Neal,” she says. “And don’t forget to let other people take care of you sometimes.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>And then she’s gone. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <hr/>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It takes Peter a few more days of digging around and avoiding Neal’s barely-hidden curiosity about what he’s up to before Peter uncovers one last big thing and then runs into a dead end. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Bryce Larkin was adopted?” Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It’s a closed adoption, so I couldn’t find out anything about his birth parents,” Peter says, “but yes.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What does this mean in terms of whether or not Neal is Bryce?” Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Nothing, really,” Peter admits. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“And we haven’t made any progress on figuring out if Neal had anybody after him around the time that Bryce Larkin was declared dead?” Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I couldn’t turn up anything,” Peter says. Neal’s biggest enemies were Adler and Keller, and they hadn’t resurfaced until later. Wilkes was another one who hated Neal, Peter remembers—but, again, it hadn’t been until later that he’d become a problem. As far as Peter could determine, there hadn’t been anybody in prison who’d been bothering Neal; for the most part, Neal had, by all accounts, been tolerated, ignored, or well-liked by the prisoners and the guards. There’d been one or two minor incidents documented, but nothing so bad as to require faking his death to protect his family. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter and Elizabeth toss a few more ideas back and forth, but eventually they have to throw in the towel. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Friday night, they invite Neal over for dinner. Even with the undercurrent of nervous curiosity, it’s a good time—it usually is with Neal. They’re fishing for information when, after all the plates are cleared away, they start sharing stories about each of their childhoods, but that’s only part of the reason—it’s fun letting Neal needle them about embarrassing things they got in trouble for or rebellious teenage behavior they got away with. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal matches their energy by sharing one or two stories of his own, but—and if Peter and Elizabeth weren’t paying attention, they probably wouldn’t even notice—there’s a distinct absence of any family members in any of his stories. Peter talks about growing up in upstate New York with horses, and his father teaching him how to ride; Elizabeth describes her mother’s freak-out when she found out that a teenage Elizabeth had gotten a tattoo; Neal regales them with the play-by-play of a prank he’d pulled on another student in seventh grade, but when Peter asks if he’d gotten in trouble, thinking he might hear something about Neal’s parents’ reaction, all Neal says is that he got detention for a few days.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Did you ever have any family?” Peter asks eventually.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Peter,” Neal says with amusement, like he expected Peter to figure it out on his own.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Parents?” Peter presses. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter waits while Neal decides how to answer. <em>This is it</em>, he thinks. <em>This is it. </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Mozzie and I have this in common,” Neal says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter knows what he’s referencing—he remembers the thing with the Detroit orphanage. But Bryce Larkin had been adopted. Does Neal mean that he grew up like Mozzie did, or is he just dodging the question by being truthful about not knowing his biological parents and letting Peter infer whatever he wants about the rest?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter’s not sure what to say, so he asks something else. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Did you have any siblings?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No,” Neal says. “Ellen didn’t tell you?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ah. So he knows Peter went to see her. Momentarily derailed, Peter admits, “She said I should ask you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Ellen was my neighbor while I was in middle school,” Neal says. “I didn’t really talk to her until she was a substitute teacher for my art class, though—she actually tried teaching us something instead of letting us have a free-draw day like a normal substitute would. I started hanging out at her house a lot after that.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ellen being a mentor figure for Neal explains the closeness between them. And the stealing could’ve been that she caught him taking something while he was at her house. But Peter didn’t bring this up to talk about Neal stealing things as a child. He reaches back into his work bag, which he’d hung on his kitchen chair for precisely this reason before Neal came over, and he takes out a folder. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>At the sight of the folder, Neal asks, “How’s your investigation going?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I feel like we ended up with more questions than answers,” Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“My mysterious past,” Neal says with a grin. “Tell me what you’ve figured out so far.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter opens the folder and takes out the photos of Helen and Lawrence Larkin from their Facebook profiles. He slides them on the table towards Neal. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Whatever Neal had been expecting, it wasn’t this.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>After a moment, he says, “What am I looking at here?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth and Peter exchange a glance. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“We thought they might’ve been your parents,” Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter and Elizabeth weren't sure what they were expecting, either. Surprise that they’d figured it out, maybe. But Neal’s not confirming it—they have no idea what to do with the way that Neal looks between the two of them with bafflement. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Why?” he says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter wordlessly hands him the two photos of Bryce Larkin—the childhood photo in front of the Statue of Liberty and the professional adult one.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal takes them and glances down, and then he visibly does a double-take. He studies the photos carefully.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“This doesn’t make sense,” Neal says. He turns the photo of young Bryce and the Larkins back toward Peter and Elizabeth. “I can’t be in this photo. I’d never been to New York before when I was that young.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He looks back at the pictures of Helen and Lawrence Larkin.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“And I didn’t know my parents,” Neal says. “I grew up in foster care.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Foster care. Peter puts a pin in that; he’ll return to it later. He’s preoccupied with the fact that all of his preconceived notions about how this night was going to go are falling apart in front of him. He’d told himself he wasn’t sure, that he didn’t buy into either idea, but honestly, he really thought Neal was Bryce Larkin. He really did. If not—and if it’s more than just a passing resemblance, as it must be if Neal is so confused by it— </p>
</div><div>
  <p>While Peter’s in turmoil, Neal’s bewilderment turns into something a little sharper. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Who are these people?” Neal says. “Peter, what is this?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That’s Bryce Larkin,” Peter says, “and his adoptive parents, Helen and Lawrence Larkin—you remember those clients of Elizabeth’s I mentioned? The fortieth anniversary party?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I saw those pictures at their house and I thought he was you,” Elizabeth says. “He looks just like you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He looks <em>exactly</em> like me,” Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He puts the photos back down on the table.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It was a closed adoption, so we don’t know who his biological parents are, but—Neal, when’s your birthday?” Peter says. Gently, so it’s not an interrogation. “Not the birthday in your file. Your real birthday.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal gives Peter an apologetic look, but Peter’s not mad about this, so Neal answers him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>”March 3rd.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“In 1978?” Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“In 1981,” Neal admits. He hesitates. “Bryce Larkin—?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“The same,” Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal takes that in. They all do. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I have a twin?” Neal says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When nobody corrects him or offers any other explanation, he says it again, slowly, hesitantly, like he’s trying the words on for size.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I have a twin.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth looks anguished, and it takes Peter a second to realize why. It’s like a kick in the chest. There’s something they’ve forgotten to tell him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Neal, I’m so sorry,” Peter says. “Bryce Larkin passed away in 2007.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal doesn’t react except to look down at the photos again. After a few minutes of this, Elizabeth gets up from her chair. She walks behind where he’s sitting, leans down, and wraps her arms around his shoulders. One of his hands absentmindedly rises to rest on her arm, to keep her there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’s quiet for a long time. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Before he leaves, he asks if he can keep the pictures. Elizabeth can’t press them back into his hands fast enough. At the front door, she pulls him into a tight hug and kisses his cheek before letting him go. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I’ll come over tomorrow,” Peter says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Sure,” Neal says. He’s—withdrawn. Distant. Out of it, maybe. “I’ll have to pick up some beer,” he says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Don’t worry about that,” Peter says. He’s going to leave it at that, but then he hugs Neal fiercely, like the force of it will be enough to bring Neal back from wherever he’s gone in his head. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>In the morning, Peter gets a text from Neal while he’s washing his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><b>NC</b>: <em>I think I’m actually going to rest a bit this weekend. I’ll see you on Monday. </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p><b>PB</b>: <em>Are you sure?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p><b>NC</b>: <em>I’m sure. Thanks, Peter. </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter puts his robe on and goes downstairs. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You only make French toast when you’re freaking out,” Elizabeth observes when she comes down. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I’m worried about Neal,” he says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“So am I,” Elizabeth says. “But at least Mozzie’s with him. He’ll take care of him.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Mozzie’s with him?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He texted me a few minutes ago,” she says. “I don’t know if Neal told him about last night, and he didn’t say anything about how Neal’s doing, but he’s there.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She hugs Peter from behind. He puts the pancake spatula down to turn around and hug her properly, and he rests his cheek on the top of her head. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I don’t know what to do,” Peter admits. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I don’t know either,” she says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It’s not until Sunday night that Peter hears from Neal again. It’s technically Monday morning—Peter wakes up at 2 A.M. to the phone ringing. He answers it automatically. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“The Larkins renamed him Bryce when they adopted him,” Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter is suddenly wide awake. He sits up in bed, careful not to disturb Elizabeth, but when he says, “Neal, hey,” she turns over and blinks herself out of sleep. Peter puts him on speaker. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“His biological mother’s name was Sarah McClean,” Neal continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “She named him George Brooks.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter deliberately doesn’t ask how or from whom Neal got this information. Almost certainly Mozzie, and the less Peter knows about Mozzie’s illegal activities, the better. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I never knew my biological mother’s name,” Neal says, “but, Peter, I grew up as Danny Brooks. My name was Danny Brooks.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>There’s a few seconds of silence. Peter imagines that Neal had been pacing this whole time and that maybe he has come to a stop. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It’s real,” Neal says finally, and something about the way he says it makes Peter’s heart ache.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I had a twin brother,” Neal says. “Bryce Larkin was George Brooks and he was my twin brother.”</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Neal tries to process everything he has learned. Elizabeth and Peter have a revelation of their own.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry in advance for how wordy this is (this is actually the shorter version of what this chapter was meant to be), and how it might read a little circular. i'm currently working on my creative thesis and doing a lot of editing stuff irl, so i don't really focus too much on editing fic. and i dont have a beta reader so. no beta we die like men etc etc. </p><p>neal’s biological mother, in my head, looks kind of like sonia petrovna <a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8e/Sonia_Petrovna.png/220px-Sonia_Petrovna.png">(here's a picture of her at 20)</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>"Imagine if we'd known sooner," Mozzie says. "Imagine the cons we could've run." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It was the sort of thing that Peter, whom Neal had just gotten off the phone with, probably would think is insensitive, but Neal feels a surge of affection for Moz when he says it. Mozzie is reminding him of their shared history, reminding Neal that he has a past separate from all this. No matter how Neal feels about what they found out, no matter what happens with this twin thing, <em>Moz</em> is Neal’s family. Mozzie is making sure Neal knows it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal's too shocked to sleep; Mozzie stays with him the whole night. In the moments when Neal doesn't know what to say, Mozzie fills the silence by talking about anything and nothing at all. He doesn't leave until Peter calls Monday morning to let Neal know he's picking him up for work.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal thinks he's doing an admirable job of not being distracted at work, all things considered. He's on top of his paperwork, he teases Diana, he flirts with Jones, he takes lunch at his usual time and brings back scones for the probies and for Peter. There's nothing major happening, which is a blessing and a curse: he doesn't have the opportunity to screw up an undercover assignment, but he doesn't have much to occupy his mind, either.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal buys himself some time to absorb all of this alone by promising Peter he'll come over and have dinner with him and Elizabeth on Thursday. He expects Peter to bring it up on their lunch breaks anyway, but Elizabeth must’ve made him promise to be on his best (read: least nosy) behavior, because Peter doesn’t talk about anything that’s not work-related. Neal's almost impressed by Peter's restraint; there's only the slightest hint at work that Peter is going to spontaneously combust by the time Thursday rolls around.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Before that, though, are Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday, which, outside of work, Neal spends alone. He comes back to his apartment Monday evening and finds a wine glass in the sink, a chair at the table left out, and the pillows on his couch shuffled around: Mozzie was here. Neal washes the wine glass, dries it, and puts it on the counter. He's absurdly grateful—Mozzie is giving him space the space he needs but leaving little reminders that he’s around if he needs him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>One of the innumerable challenging things about all of this is that Neal has no idea how to react to it. He knows a reaction is expected, but he doesn’t know what it’s supposed to look like. Neal is not and has never been somebody who experiences stage fright, but he does get a particular buzz of anxiety whenever he fails to grasp the face he’s meant to wear. Peter’s silence and Mozzie’s absence—Neal’s friends know him well: on Thursday, Neal will have to talk about this, but, for now, Neal can go to work and play a role he’s good at playing, and when he comes home there’s no one he has to perform for. Peter’s not giving Neal as much time as he’d like, but he wouldn’t be Peter if he wasn’t impatient to pry open Neal’s skull and read his thoughts.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal reads and rereads the folder of information Peter gave him and the folder of information Mozzie gave him and tries to let it sink in that this is his life. He’s not sure if he’s making any progress. The facts feel nonsensical. He had a brother. He had an identical twin brother. His brother’s name was George Brooks and then it was Bryce Larkin. His brother is dead. His brother’s adoptive parents live in Connecticut and have pictures of a face identical to Neal’s scattered throughout their house.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It’s incredibly strange, trying to imagine Bryce Larkin’s Connecticut life. Neal knows very little about him, but he tries to tries to approach what he does know as if he were about to become Bryce for a case, some sort of few-facts, guesswork, spur-of-the-moment impersonation. Wealthy kid from Connecticut. Accountant. Went to Stanford. Two married parents. Neal turns to the mirror and smiles.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Bryce Larkin,” he introduces himself, offering a hand to his reflection.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He doesn’t really have enough to go on—he can reasonably assume a somewhat spoiled or entitled mindset, but he doesn’t know how Bryce behaves, if Bryce was shy or sleazy or polite or old fashioned or arrogant or kind. He’s inventing someone rather than inhabiting them.  Neal introduces himself as Bryce to the mirror one more time before he gets the vague idea that if Peter was here he'd probably be unnerved.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal pours himself a glass of wine, one of Mozzie’s picks, and wonders what it would’ve been like to grow up with a twin brother. He’d technically grown up as an only child, with all of the loneliness and self-involvement he figured was characteristic of most only-children, but he had also grown up bouncing between group homes and foster care, and he was more than willing to lay the majority of the blame for his personality on that aspect of his childhood. He was watched in the sense that he was suspected when things went wrong or went missing but he was never favored or paid much attention to. There were so many unwanted and “troubled” kids; he was always and never alone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He had never known any twins. He’d made a joke to Peter once about getting friendly with twin supermodels, but that was a (small, excusable) lie, and it was years ago, at the very beginning, when he was testing the waters, trying to figure out what sort of person Peter wanted him to be.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The only twins he can think of are not conductive for imagining what it’s like to grow up with a twin: Luke and Leia had not known about each other until adulthood. It doesn’t help the real life situation outside his imagination, either, since it wasn’t like Leia found out she had a deceased twin. She and her brother had had time to get to know each other and decide how they felt about being family. Neal and Bryce didn’t and would never have that time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>The Parent Trap</em>, Neal remembers, but only vaguely. Mozzie had rented the DVD when they’d been laying low, hiding from Interpol, and Neal had been running a fever. The movie was in Portuguese—his Portuguese was a little rusty at the time—and he’d been somewhat delirious, but he remembers these twins, too, had been raised separately. They’d met when they were still kids, though, which was close enough. Lindsey Lohan and the other Lindsey Lohan were thick as thieves and delightful little schemers—that could’ve been Neal and Bryce, Neal supposed, if they’d met as kids. Pulling pranks and pretending to be each other. Certainly would’ve been good practice for later cons.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal studies himself in the mirror, wine glass in hand. It‘s difficult to imagine growing up with somebody who looked—and maybe thought and felt—exactly like him. Weren’t twins supposed to be connected somehow? Emotionally, spiritually, psychically, something like that? Neal thinks he heard something once that twins could tell when the other was hurt or gone—why hadn’t he known, then, that Bryce was dead? Why can’t he pinpoint a day, a moment, when it felt like half of him had been ripped away?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Maybe the two-halves-of-a-whole thing is bullshit, Neal muses. Maybe he and Bryce would’ve been ambivalent towards each other. Maybe they’d have hated each other. He wonders which of the two of them had been born first, and if they would’ve bickered about it. Jacob and Esau, now there’s a set of twins. Fraternal, though, not identical, which helps Neal close the door on the uneasy feeling that he was born to play the part of the selfish deceiver if he and Bryce had lived that story.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal raises his hand to the mirror but doesn’t touch it. No use getting his fingerprints on the glass. He watches his reflection move with him. He still doesn’t feel like a twin. Can he call himself a brother if he’d never really been one? He certainly can't claim to be anybody's son.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The picture of his biological mother is on the table. He doesn’t have to get up to see it; her face swims behind his eyes when he closes them. Sarah McLean. She’s young, in the photo. Twenty years old. A driver’s license photo. She’d been a teenager when she’d had Neal and Bryce—when she'd had George and Danny, he should say. When Neal was very young, when he was still Danny, he’d wondered, like so many other children, who his parents were, and why they’d given him up, and if they would ever come back for him. By the time Danny was ready to shed his name, he’d long since shut all that down; as far as Danny Brooks was concerned, his mother, whoever she was, hadn’t wanted him, so he didn’t need or want her, either. He would make his own way. And he had. Neal’s just wondering now if he’d made the right choice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>On one of his and Peter's earliest cases together, a Bible had been stolen. Neal wasn’t religious, but when Peter had asked him if he believed in miracles, he’d been honest with him. He’d spent much of that case trying to sway Peter in favor of believing. He couldn’t help it. And now he’s looking at what feels like the opposite of a miracle—some sort of tragic irony, maybe—here is his biological family, but he didn’t learn they existed until after they  died. Sarah McLean, born in St. Louis, Missouri, moved to New Orleans, Louisiana, died there in Hurricane Katrina in 2005. (Neal had still been running from Peter when Katrina had made landfall. He, like so many others not directly impacted, regarded it as a horrible tragedy, but a distant one, and one that didn’t occupy his mind much while he tried to outrun Peter and reunite with Kate.) Bryce Larkin, born in St Louis, Missouri, adopted to a family in New Haven, Connecticut, went to Stanford, became a bank executive, died in California during a robbery in 2007. (Neal had been in prison then, two years into a four-year sentence.) His brother and his mother, both dead, and any information about who his father was has died with his mother. Neal will never get to know any of them. Ellen, his last and only living connection to who he was before, is gone, forever out of his reach. He will never see her again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal understands the message the universe is sending him. Neal has always wanted and wanted—food first, and then attention, and love, and money, and art, and knowledge, and he wants and wants and takes and takes and takes and takes. But he has just finally come back to New York, back to normalcy, finally found his feet again, and now he is terrified of wanting too much and losing it all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>His hands find a sketchbook and he doesn't realize what he's drawing until he captures the slumped line of the shoulders—Herbert Draper, 1898, Neal's favorite Icarus. The man himself doesn't look like anybody special, but the wings... Draper makes them breathtaking in their magnitude; it's more painful to see the plight of the wings than the failure of the boy—all the feathers that had carried him until he'd taken them for granted and flown too far.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm going to fall," Neal says to no one. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He might be a little drunk.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>If Peter was here, he'd say,<em> I'll catch you.</em> It's too good of a line; he wouldn't be able to help himself. Neal knows he would probably say something hopelessly besotted in response, something like, <em>You always do.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>Christ. Better that Peter's not here. Neal closes his eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Maybe this is his sign to stop turning over stones, stop wanting, stop taking. He knows, now, who his biological mother and brother are, and they are both dead and out of his reach, and he is done, he has learned enough. Back then, he chose not to look for his family. He chose this life. He has to live with it. It is too late to care about the past now. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He needs to focus on everything he still has—Peter and Elizabeth and Mozzie and everyone else.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He tries, one last time, to think of twins, any twins, and only comes up with the creepy little girls from <em>The Shining</em>. Having a second Neal around would've definitely been horrifying for Peter, if nothing else. Neal can't help but laugh at the thought. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>Dinner at Peter and Elizabeth's on Thursday feels like a mirror of the dinner last Friday night. Neal wonders if they have any more bombshells they're about to drop on him. Last time, they'd waited until after everybody was finished eating to discuss Neal's past; this time, they've barely exchanged pleasantries before Peter brings it up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So," Peter says. "Danny Brooks, huh?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal doesn't let his expression betray the twist in his stomach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Before last weekend, he'd never, never thought he'd hear Peter say that name aloud. Neal realizes that this is the first time someone else has said his birth name in seventeen years. Even Mozzie hasn't said it—Mozzie had been in the room Sunday night when Neal called Peter, and Neal had really been telling both of them when he'd revealed that he grew up as Danny Brooks, but Mozzie hadn't ever used the name the rest of the night, hadn't asked about it, hadn't tried to call him by it. Even if he had said it, though, it probably wouldn't have felt like this—like a curtain being pulled back, and like a door swinging shut, both of those things at once.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter had once known Neal as an impossible-to-catch, internationally-renowned (alleged) art thief. All the mystery and the charm and the allure and the class and the worldliness, everything he'd built for himself, it's gone. Now he's just some guy from Missouri. Some kid from St. Louis who skipped school and stole from his neighbors. Somebody who had nothing, who came from nothing, who nobody wanted. It's pathetic. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter had once told him he could be a man or a con, he couldn't be both. Peter wanted him to be a real person. Real people are more than what you see in front of you, real people have backgrounds and pasts and histories, and Neal is almost afraid to look Peter in the eyes: <em>Here, Peter, here is your evidence that I existed before we met, here it is, now you have everything. Sorry if it disappoints.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I haven't been Danny Brooks in a long time," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"And now?" Elizabeth says. "Do you want..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She doesn't finish the sentence, but she doesn't have to; Neal can feel the earnest—if somewhat awkward—tension in the air. They mean well, but the idea of Peter and Elizabeth calling him Danny regularly makes Neal's skin crawl.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm actually pretty fond of Neal Caffrey," Neal says. "I'd like it if he stuck around."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well, don't tell him, because he doesn't really need the ego boost," Peter says, "but I like him, too."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal's struck by an overwhelming fondness and tries not to show the full extent of it. All the dread he'd had about this moment, and he should've known better; Peter never lets him down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I won't tell him," Neal says, smiling warmly. "I've been told I'm very good at keeping secrets." He mimes zipping his lips shut.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter and Elizabeth have twin exasperated-but-undeniably-fond looks on their faces. Neal internally cringes at the observation: a new word to avoid, even in his head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Peter and I have been trying to figure out the best way to break the news to the Larkins," Elizabeth says around a mouthful of salad. "Do you have any ideas?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"The Larkins?" Neal repeats. It takes him a second to process what she's saying because of how insane it is.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You don't want to tell them?" Elizabeth says. She looks just as baffled as Neal feels.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It never even crossed my mind," Neal says, "but, no, of course not."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"'Of course not?'" Peter echoes, frowning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter doesn't let him down, but he is, unfortunately, still somebody very different from Neal. As well as they know each other, sometimes it is absolutely baffling how out-of-sync they can be. Neal studies Peter's unhappy mouth, thinks about kissing the frown away, and banishes the thought with extreme annoyance at himself. Not the time. The annoyance gets directed at Peter, too, if only because he ought to stop throwing Neal curveballs. They'd been doing so well a minute ago.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What good would it do?" Neal says. He tries to keep the frustration out of his voice and puts his silverware down. "No, really, Peter, I don't understand this. Their son, their only child, is dead. Please explain to me how seeing my living, breathing face would be anything but distressing for them."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well, it would be, sure," Elizabeth says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"This isn't just about them," Peter says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Of course not, Neal thinks bitterly, his appetite gone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You want to tell them because, what, you want me to confess to not being Neal Caffrey?" he says. "They gave me four years for first degree forgery; how many do you think they'll give me for second degree?" he adds bitterly, meaning the bonds, meaning his fake birth certificate, meaning he better be reading this wrong, meaning he's wondering how on earth this might be what has finally convinced Peter to stop giving him second chances.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Neal," Peter says, emphasizing his name, "I meant that their feelings aren't the only thing that matter when making a decision like this. What you can get out of this should also be taken into consideration."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Please," Neal says. "You know I'm always thinking about what I can get out of things. I’m a conman.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"That's not what I meant," Peter says, "and you know it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's going to look like I have some scheme going," Neal says. "Taking advantage of physical similarities to con them. There's no proof that I'm Danny Brooks."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You don't have your birth certificate?" Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Didn't know my own mother's name, remember?" Neal says. "I have my social security card," he admits, "but they'll just say I forged that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"There's no motive," Peter argues.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Neal, it's not just a resemblance; you look exactly like Bryce Larkin," Elizabeth says. "You said it yourself last week."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"DNA testing," Peter says. "If he hasn't been cremated, we could find out where he's buried, exhume the remains—"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He's got his work-face on, the one that says he's determinedly trying to figure things out. It's almost funny that he's employing it to defend Neal's innocence against a hypothetical scenario involving people who aren't even here, and it diffuses Neal's anger. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth kicks Peter under the table, incredulous that he's talking so casually about the corpse of Neal's dead brother, and Peter glances sheepishly at Neal, but Neal's still too amused by Peter's work-face to think too hard about it. He figures that the exhumation comment was insensitive enough that they're even for Neal picking a fight just now for no reason.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"We could go, you know," Peter says after a moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Where?" Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Connecticut," Peter says. "I think his grave is there, if you wanted to visit him. There's paperwork for taking a CI out of state, but I could get it through."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What would you say?" Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"The truth," Peter says. "I can get you immunity for the identity fraud; we've given you immunity for things like this before. If you don't want to talk to the Larkins, fine. But that doesn't have anything to do with whether or not this goes in your file."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Whether or not," Neal echoes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter looks uncomfortable. Elizabeth elbows him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm not going to forget it," Peter says. "And if it was ever relevant, you'd need to disclose it. I wish you would disclose it now. But I understand," he sounds deeply resigned, "if this feels like too overwhelming or private to have in your official file right away."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Was that so hard?" Elizabeth teases.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"We should really get this cleared up sooner rather than later," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You think I should disclose it," Neal says, looking away. "My birth name."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He doesn’t say, <em>My real name</em>. He's been Neal Caffrey longer than he's been Danny Brooks. And Neal Caffrey is his. He chose it. He made it his own. Neal Caffrey is more real to him than anything else. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>If Peter and Elizabeth notice the implication, they don’t mention it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Better to get it squared away now than run into any legal trouble later if somebody else finds out," Peter says. To his credit, he looks apologetic. Neal wonders if Peter, too, is thinking of Kramer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He hates Peter a little, for just a moment, because Danny Brooks felt like one last secret hiding place, and now it's gone. He has been stripped bare. He has nothing left and nowhere left to run.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He reminds himself that he doesn't want to run, not really, not anymore. If he can reframe this for himself... It isn't as if Danny Brooks was taken away from him. Neal was the one who called Peter to tell him that name. He had surrendered it willingly. He had given it up. </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>Trust me,</em> Peter's eyes say. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal looks at Peter and Elizabeth, his friends, these two people he loves more than breathing, and he knows he can do this, he can demonstrate to them that he wants to stay. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"We can put it in the file," Neal says. "The rest of it—can we just—"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He's not sure how to say,<em> I don't want to talk about it anymore, </em>without sounding childishly sad.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Alright," Peter says. "We can do that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>Saturday morning, Peter calls the Marshalls and lets them know he's taking Neal outside his radius. He follows Neal's directions, and they drive almost four hours upstate into Cooperstown, NY. Mozzie is waiting for them in front of what looks like an abandoned-but-not-yet-dilapidated warehouse.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Suit," Mozzie says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's in here?" Peter asks, indicating the warehouse.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Mozzie pulls an old metal tin from within his thick trenchcoat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"In here," Mozzie says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Thanks, Moz," Neal says, taking the tin from him. He opens it and checks its contents without ceremony, as if it's got gas station receipts in it and not his real government ID and god knows what else.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter studies Neal’s expressionless face and thinks about the name Danny Brooks. He doesn’t look like a Daniel. Danny, sure, maybe, but not Daniel. He wonders if Neal had come from the latter half of that name, if that’s how he’d first thought of it. Before their talk Thursday night, Peter had found himself staring at Neal throughout the day at work, trying to make the name Danny sound right. Peter would look at Neal Caffrey doing paperwork at his desk or grinning at somebody in the office, and his eyes would follow the lines of Neal's face—his brow, his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his chin—and Peter would recite to himself, Danny Brooks, Danny Brooks, Danny Brooks. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The name still didn't feel right. Neal had been Neal in Peter's eyes for too long.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>At least Neal seems to feel similarly. He has avoided the use of his birth name at all costs. Peter wonders if something had happened that made that name unbearable, or if it had just never felt right to him, or if it was something else. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Mozzie probably gets it. Peter tries not to be jealous of that and fails. He turns away from the exchange and evaluates the warehouse.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It was never hidden in this building, was it," Peter says, just to confirm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No," Neal admits.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Was it ever in this town?" Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Mozzie looks at him like he's stupid.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Of course not," Peter says. "Should I even ask why you made us come all this way instead of bringing this to Neal's apartment?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Don't blame me," Mozzie says crabbily. "It was Neal's idea."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter turns to Neal with raised eyebrows. Usually the cloak-and-dagger, secret-meeting-place is Mozzie's thing, not Neal's.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Field trip," Neal says mysteriously. "Come on, we've got one more stop to make."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>They leave Mozzie. Peter follows Neal's directions again, politely ignoring the fact that Neal has opened and closed the tin a few times during the drive, as if checking to make sure his documents haven't magically disappeared. Schrodinger's social security card, Peter thinks to himself, and then they're on Main Street, he thinks he recognizes the long brick building they're driving toward—The National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Neal, what are we doing here?" he says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well, we're not going to the Heroes of Baseball Wax Museum," Neal says. "Wax statues creep me out."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter parks the car and evaluates Neal, the picture of innocence in his passenger seat. Peter is used to the Caffrey brand of getting what he wants via sneaky means rather than directly asking for it, but he can't be mad, not when it looks like the real reason Neal wanted to come to Cooperstown is solely for Peter's benefit. He almost wonders if Neal is trying to butter him up to ask him for something, but his suspicion dies before it can ever really take flight. Peter is reminded of the Gordon Taylor case last year when Neal had pulled some invisible strings to get Peter standing on the pitcher's mound in Yankee Stadium. He'd asked him if he had a shot at commutation, but it hadn't had any ulterior motive behind it, it had only been a question. And what had Peter said back? Something about living in the moment, he thinks. Don't worry about the future or the past. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"They're open until five p.m.," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal's still got the tin in his hands. Peter had gone poking around in Neal's past and only brought him pain because of it—Peter doesn't believe Neal's unaffected by all this new information, not for a second—but Neal's still here, still pulling back another curtain to reveal the hidden facets of himself underneath. Neal's got his life, his old life, in his hands in a rusted metal tin, and he's about to offer it to Peter willingly. And—maybe most importantly of all—Neal is Peter's friend, and despite all the extra turmoil in his life right now, he's trying to do something nice for Peter. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Okay. Peter can work with that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Better not waste any time, then," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's only noon, so they've got plenty of time, and they take it slow. Peter's father had taken him to the museum twice as a kid, and Peter retraces his steps, works his way throughout the entire museum. Neal follows willingly, ever the attentive listener, and he even asks questions—about the artifacts, about baseball history, about Peter himself. Peter tells him a little about his father, about the baseball teams Peter played on all through school, and his very brief career in it, the exhilaration of playing in a stadium, funny stories from old team members he hasn't seen since then except on television. Peter doesn't resent them, though. He has fond memories, and he's happy that he has people like Neal to tell them to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>They end up going to the Heroes of Baseball Wax Museum, too, since it's within walking distance. After they've spent an appropriate amount of time meandering through it—Peter telling Neal baseball facts and Neal bemoaning the horrible quality of the statues, <em>I could do these so much better, Peter</em>—they get an early dinner at Doubleday Cafe since they skipped lunch. They take their food to Pioneer Park across the street, sit at one of its wobbly metal tables, and eat while the sun makes its way down the sky.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Field trip, huh?" Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Did you have fun?" Neal says, teasing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I did," Peter says instead of rising to the bait. "Thanks, by the way."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal smiles warmly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yeah, no problem, Peter.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“We should bring Elizabeth next time,” Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal raises an eyebrow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“She likes baseball?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You didn’t come with me because you like baseball,” Peter says. “But we’ll pick something she’s interested in.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Good call," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter wonders if this is what it'll be like when Neal's off-anklet, if Neal will stick around and work cases as a civilian consultant and then they'll take trips on their days off. They could go anywhere, Peter realizes, and he has a sudden vision of bundling El and Neal into the Taurus and taking them home to the farm for a weekend. Peter's mother died years ago, but his father still owns the farm. Peter hasn’t been back there in so long—he wonders if Neal has ever ridden a horse, if maybe that’s the one thing Neal Caffrey can’t do, and Peter taught Elizabeth how to ride years ago, so they could both show Neal the ropes, and—Peter’s getting ahead of himself. There’s no reason to assume Neal’s not going to throw himself headfirst into a life of crime once he’s free of Peter’s rules.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Well, Peter corrects himself, studying the curve of Neal’s neck, maybe a few reasons. Peter believed what he said at the commutation hearing. And it counts for something that Neal had come back with him. Neal could’ve run from him in Cape Verde, but he hadn’t, and here he is, happy to be here. He's even using his get-something-without-directly-asking-for-it methods for good—today hadn't been a con, it had been a gift. It had felt, honestly, Peter realizes, kind of like a date. He clips that bizarre thought's wings before it can get any ideas about leaving the nest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>When Peter runs Danny Brooks's social security number, nothing comes up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He doesn't understand it. He studies the card, pores over it for hours, and it looks real, it does. But then again, so many of Neal's forgeries do. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He takes an entire week to look into it, checking every avenue possible. Without explaining why, he confirms with Neal where he's really from, and then Peter calls everybody in St. Louis. Police departments, city and county clerk offices, public and private schools, contacts in the foster system, even hospitals. No foster records, no social security number, no birth certificate. He goes the extra mile—no missing persons report or death certificate, either. He even contacts the adoption agency through which Bryce's sealed adoption took place, just in case, but they have nothing for him without a warrant—and Peter gets the idea from the woman on the other end of the phone that even if he did have a warrant, they didn't have anything of use. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter can't find record anywhere of Danny Brooks ever existing. It doesn't make sense.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He tries desperately to think of any explanation that doesn't involve Neal lying to him. The only one he can come up with is that maybe Mozzie swapped the real social security card with a forgery—but then, wouldn't Neal have recognized if even one digit of his social security number was incorrect? And even if the number was wrong, even if Neal had somehow missed that the number was wrong—misremembered it, maybe, though Peter thinks that's highly unlikely—shouldn't Peter be able to find evidence of Danny Brooks's life some other way?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>There are lots of people who live their whole lives without government records, but Peter just doesn't understand how there can be no proof of Danny Brooks when there's so much proof of Bryce Larkin. Peter turns the social security card over and over in his hands. Why is nothing involving Neal ever easy?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He tries not to get pissed off, he does, but he has been giving Neal the benefit of the doubt this whole time, giving him every bit of leeway, all the time he needs. Peter doesn't understand the motive for this, he doesn't get it at all. Did Neal go back to St Louis at some point during his three-year run from Peter and try to cover up his old life to make it harder for Peter to catch him? Did he have Mozzie do it for him? Why wouldn't he just tell Peter that now? Or—did Mozzie get it done without asking, with some kind of twisted <em>I'm-protecting-him</em> rationale, and Neal doesn't know? And if that's the case, why didn't Mozzie say something?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>All of this—all of these records vanishing, if they even existed in the first place—it just feels too big for either of them to have pulled off on their own, Peter thinks, and too big for even the two of them combined. But he didn't make it this far in his career by underestimating Neal Caffrey.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He checks Neal's tracking data, confirms that he's at June's, and shows up at Neal's door unannounced after work. Neal welcomes him in, though as his eyes flash over Peter, he knows in an instant that Peter is in a bad mood. Mozzie seems to take this as his cue to leave, but Peter's got questions for him, too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, no," Peter says. "You're not going anywhere. Sit."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Mozzie starts to protest, but Peter growls at him to sit again and he relents.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Everything alright?" Neal says warily.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter means to be more tactful about it, but instead he says, "Tell me this isn't a forgery."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's not a forgery," Neal says automatically. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal realizes that it's his social security card that Peter has in his hands, and then he looks vaguely betrayed, which, funnily enough, is exactly how Peter's feeling. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's not a forgery, Peter," Neal says again, but with feeling this time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Is that true?" Peter asks Mozzie. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Excuse me?" Mozzie says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Did you swap it with another card?" Peter puts it on the table. Mozzie sputters an incredulous denial, over which Peter says to Neal, "Read it again. That's the right number?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal glances uneasily between Peter and Mozzie before he inspects the card. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"The number is right," he says immediately, but he keeps looking it over for any flaws. "It's real," he says after a moment. "It's my real social security card."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I wouldn't swap it out," Mozzie scowls, and then he amends, under Peter's glare, "without Neal's say-so. And he didn't say so!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal's bewildered and irritated and clearly running out of patience, so Peter tries to beat back his own frustration in order to explain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I ran the number and nothing came up," Peter says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Nothing?" Neal says. "Nothing at all?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter lists off all the records he couldn't find—he notices Mozzie's alarm, but Neal's surprise and frustration are more urgent.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"How is that my fault?" Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Neal, you know I had to ask," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You're the one who brought all this up," Neal says. "You're the one who keeps digging into things. I don't need this, Peter." He makes a broad gesture with his hand—<em>this</em> meaning his past, <em>this</em> meaning Peter storming into his apartment, <em>this</em> meaning a lot of things. "You're acting like I knew that this is what you'd find. You think I'd've told you anything, anything at all, if it was just going to show you that I was such a nobody that apparently no one ever filed a missing person report when I ran away? You think I'm happy that I mattered so little that I don't legally exist anymore?" His chest heaves. "I didn't destroy the evidence of my life, Peter," he says. "I didn't erase my history. Nobody cared enough to record it in the first place."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter's at a loss for words. Neal turns away from him and runs a hand through his hair.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I shouldn't have taken that tone," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Neal," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't know what you want me to say, Peter," Neal says. "Just tell me what you want me to say."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm sorry," Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Neal blinks at him. "You want me to apologize?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No, <em>I'm</em> sorry," Peter says. "Look, this whole thing is strange."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah," Neal says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's really strange," Mozzie agrees, and both of them turn to him, having forgotten he was there. "You really think someone erased Neal's information?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well," Peter says. He doesn't want to get Mozzie started. "I thought it was one of you two."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It wasn't," Mozzie says, "but that's what it looks like? A cover-up?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter scrubs his face. This is what he gets for storming in here. This is his punishment. He set Mozzie off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Mozzie is good for defusing the tension, at least. Peter gives up on even the slightest chance that this will be a productive evening and takes a seat at the kitchen table. Neal nods along to everything Mozzie says, occasionally interjecting with a question to keep him going. Mozzie's rant takes a turn in the direction of <em>massive CIA coverup</em>. Neal prods Mozzie with, <em>What would the CIA have to gain by erasing me?</em> and amuses himself with Mozzie's increasingly wild theories as a distraction from how weighty the rest of the evening had been. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter will ask, before he leaves, if Neal buys into any of it, even the most tame of Mozzie's conspiracy theories about this. No, Neal says, it's more likely that Danny Brooks just got lost in the shuffle somewhere, given the general chaos of group homes and foster care. Neal had run away at fourteen; maybe instead of reporting him missing, his last placement didn't notice he was gone until an embarrassing amount of time had passed and tossed his file. Something like that. This can't have been the first time a kid slipped through the cracks of the system. Peter gets the idea that Neal learned at a very young age that if you did not advocate for yourself, nobody would; when Danny became Nick and then Neal, nobody was left who wanted to keep up with Danny; Peter thinks it doesn't surprise Neal at all that Danny doesn't exist to anyone anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Mozzie and Peter leave together, Neal closing the door behind them, and they walk in silence down the stairs to the front door. Mozzie tells Peter he's going to look into this. Peter knows better than to ask him what good he'll think that'll do—the past half hour had given him more than enough insight into what Mozzie expects to find. They split up on the sidewalk, Peter heading for his car and Mozzie vanishing around a corner. Peter doesn't know where Mozzie's going and doesn't want to know. He takes one last look at June's front door before he goes home to update Elizabeth on what he's learned.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>The Larkins' fortieth wedding anniversary at Three Saints Park goes beautifully. Elizabeth herself doesn't supervise all of her company's events, there's just too many, but she does attend this one. The white anemones in bloom brighten everything, and the guests are happy, and the food order is fine, and the wine is what they wanted, and Neal told his people at The Greatest Cake to send Elizabeth the vanilla-lemon cream cake for half the price. He'd wanted to comp the whole order, breads and pastries, too, but Elizabeth had talked him down from it, saying that a gesture that grand might be a little difficult for her to explain to them. He still sent a company card that said happy anniversary.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth had seen him a few days before when she'd brought lunch to him and Peter at work—though she was really there for Neal, whom she'd wanted to talk to after that debacle with Peter and the social security card. They ate together without Peter, who good-naturedly went through some paperwork in his office. Neal wouldn't let her apologize, and he didn't want to talk about it anymore, either. Instead, they'd talked pleasantly and aimlessly for a while, made fun of Peter a little bit together, and then Elizabeth mentioned the anniversary luncheon. Neal skirted that topic, too, except to talk business. He was very skilled at navigating conversations, and she found herself talking about other upcoming events for which she'd placed orders from The Greatest Cake. When she'd left, she'd hugged him, and she'd kissed his cheek, and she'd told him to give her love to Peter. When he said he would, he looked at her so fondly and so full of some strange regret. She'd thought about that look on his face for the rest of the day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Speaking of Peter—it's around the time that her waitstaff is clearing plates and the guests, done with their lunch, are mingling, laughter and the sound of many footsteps filling the air, that she turns to her left and finds her husband walking up. He doesn't usually come to her events—it is, quite frankly, a little unprofessional for her to stop to chat with her husband during business hours, and it's distracting, too, since she's always managing six different things at once, and Peter is usually busy with work anyway—but, then again, this isn't just any event.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hey, hon," he says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth gives him a work-appropriate peck on the cheek before stopping one of her waitstaff to fix his bow-tie, which had somehow become crooked in the past few hours. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What're you doing here?" she says. He's wearing one of his work suits, and for a moment she's afraid he's here because of an emergency. He doesn't look upset, though. "Everything okay?" she asks, just in case.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Everything's fine," he says. "Just wanted to see you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Wanted to see them, you mean," Elizabeth says, nodding toward the Larkins.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I was a little curious," Peter admits.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>They watch the two walk side by side through the crowd, personable and friendly, making sure to speak with everyone. Even though they're not Neal's biological parents, Elizabeth finds herself instinctually looking for traces of him in their faces. She wonders if Peter is doing the same. Their eyes are so very, very blue.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Helen and Lawrence separate to navigate the rest of the crowds, the perfect socialites. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Forty years married," Peter muses. "What do you think we'll be doing?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Their fortieth anniversary will be in twenty-seven years. They'll both be retired and old and grey—well, Peter will be greyer, she thinks affectionately.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Maybe something like this," she says. "Or, something completely different. No guests, and somebody else will do the planning for once—" Yvonne, maybe, Elizabeth thinks, she's a good manager— "but I'll make sure our whole house is covered in flowers, and you'll wear a really nice tux, and Neal will bring the right wine for whatever cake he's made—"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth trails off. She and her husband look at each other and she knows, she <em>knows</em> they're thinking the same thing.</p>
  <p>Thinking about what it means that they want Neal in their lives forever.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Peter," Elizabeth says helplessly. "We love him, don't we?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter closes his eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>Peter dutifully doesn't go for any of the food while the waitstaff clean up and the Larkins' guests begin to leave. He has long since stepped to the side, leaving Elizabeth alone so she can make sure everything's going smoothly. He's trying very hard not to think about what they'd been discussing before Elizabeth was interrupted with an issue that needed to be dealt with immediately. To distract himself, he watches the Larkins; they still remind him of Neal, but they're thoughts about Neal that don't involve Peter's marriage.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter watches Lawrence Larkin speak with Elizabeth—hopefully to thank her for a job well-done, or Peter's going to have issues with him, professionalism be damned—and he's so focused on that that he misses Helen Larkin approaching him until she's standing next to him, watching, too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Are you the husband?" she asks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Peter Burke," Peter says, feeling woefully unprepared. This is the woman who raised Neal's twin. "Happy anniversary."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Thank you," she says. "Do you two work together?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She's very friendly, but there's an intensity and a seriousness about her that's so unlike Neal—it reminds Peter that, as much as he's associating the Larkins with Neal's lost family ties, she and Neal are not related and have never met.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No, I just stopped by to see how the event was going," Peter says. "I'm an FBI agent in the white collar crimes division."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Art theft and stolen inheritance, I assume?" she says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"And scams and forgery and mortgage fraud," Peter says modestly. "A lot of paperwork and math."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I believe Thurston got his Ph.D. the year Larry and I were married," Helen says, possibly misinterpreting his modest <em>my job isn’t very exciting, you wouldn’t be interested in talking about it</em> as, instead, <em>my job isn’t something you’d understand</em>. She’s got that slyly polite tone that indicates she’s trying to show him up. "Did anyone ever solve his twenty-four questions?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Not to my knowledge," Peter says. He’s not one to be outdone. "The Hodge conjecture was always my favorite."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, that's a classic," Helen says.</p>
  <p>Her passive-aggressiveness melts away into surprised satisfaction that he can hold a conversation. They chat about math for a few more minutes before Elizabeth and Lawrence Larkin come over.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'll beg your pardon if I have to steal my wife away," Lawrence says with a small smile. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Larry, this is Mrs. Burke's husband, Peter," Helen says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Nice to meet you," Peter says. They shake hands, and then Peter looks to Elizabeth. "I suppose I'll get out of your hair so you can wrap up?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'll see you at home," she says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He kisses her on the cheek, bids goodbye to the Larkins, and leaves. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter comes home. He takes off his coat, he feeds Satchmo, he evaluates the first floor of his house and finds, in every room, some memory of Elizabeth and Neal, the two of them, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do with that. Another person emotionally inhabiting this space Peter shares with his wife. His <em>wife</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He takes Satchmo for a walk. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Elizabeth gets home a few hours later, and it's not until over dinner that they really talk about anything important—and even then, it's not the topic at the forefront of Peter's mind.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I dont understand," Elizabeth says around a bite of lasagna. "Doesn't it bother him, not knowing?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Not knowing what?" Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I just feel like if I found out I had a twin, I'd want to know everything about what she was like," Elizabeth says. "But we're just supposed to drop this? Forget everything we learned, and don't talk about it, and never see the Larkins again? You know him better than me, Peter; don't you think this is driving him crazy? Why is he acting like it never happened?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You know him well, too, hon, don't sell yourself short," Peter says. "You're right; Neal normally has to poke his nose in things; he can't help himself." He sighs. "I don't know, El. It's been different since he got back from Cape Verde. <em>He's</em> been different." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I know," Elizabeth says. "What I'm not sure about is why. Talk me through it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter takes a moment to think about it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"There's the emotional upheaval of learning he has a dead brother. I can't even imagine. But beneath that—even before we found that out—something was different. I think he feels like the wind's taken out of his sails," Peter says. "I think he's not sure what he's doing. I mean, think about it. All the years he's been on the anklet. First it was, 'I have to find Kate.' Then it was, 'I have to find Kate's killer.' And then that nonsense with the treasure—we know now that he hadn't planned on that, and he ended up regretting it, but he had a day-to-day 'Don't let Peter find out about it' thing going for him. And then Kramer happened, and he had to run, and now I've brought him back, and he's probably wary of doing any of his typical extracurricular activities in case something like that happens again, somebody trying to get him in a way I can't protect him from. So he's trying to get back into his routine, but his routine normally involves a lot more chaos, and maybe he feels a little lost. Or, god forbid, bored. A bored Neal Caffrey spells trouble for us all." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't think it's boredom," Elizabeth says. "I think you're right. I think he's not sure what to do." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So what do I do?" Peter says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Give him reasons not to want the chaos back," Elizabeth says carefully. "Give him reasons to stay." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Do you mean—” Peter says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Maybe," Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"We can't rush into something like that," Peter says. "It could destroy our lives. My career. Our marriage." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Or it could make it better," Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You're not jealous?" Peter says. It's hard to conceptualize—trying to get rid of the guilt and shame he felt when he stood next to his wife today and realized he was in love with his CI.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Are you?" Elizabeth says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Maybe a little," Peter says. The thought of Elizabeth in love with someone else— "I don't know how to be in love with more than one person."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You already are," Elizabeth says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Peter stares down at his plate.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I guess I am," he says. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't really know how to do this either," Elizabeth says, "but all I know is that you're my husband, and I love you, and Neal is Neal, and I want him here. I want to sit in this kitchen ten, twenty, thirty years down the line and wonder if he's going to make us something for dinner. I don't know why, or how it happened, but don't you feel the same way?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I do," Peter says, and it sounds like a confession, or a nail in a coffin, or, somehow, a window opening for the first time. Then, "El, we don't even know if he feels that way about us." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"If we play our cards right," Elizabeth says, "then he'll stay, and we'll have plenty of time to find out." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>For the first time tonight, Peter feels a little hopeful.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You think you can help me with that?" he says.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"We'll figure it out together,” she says.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>don't worry, neal's resolve to ignore his dead family ties won't last. it's no fun that way. we're gonna get more of the larkins and talk more about bryce in the next couple of chapters. </p><p>I wrote it so that mozzie is the only one who’s on the right track with the CIA coverup, partly because it’s fucking funny and partly because I feel like white collar unfairly mocks mozzie a lot—almost every american "conspiracy" is just shit the CIA has openly admitted to doing in declassified documents that are subsequently buried by propaganda and general ignorance. also our government is horrible. for as much as i have an unfortunate weakness for writing fic like this, i do in fact believe in abolishing not only the police but also the fbi, the cia, the dod, etc. even aside from all of that, mozzie sometimes feels like the only person on white collar who reacts normally to the premise of show: the peter and neal dynamic—and I say this affectionately—is so goddamn weird &lt;3</p><p>additional notes:</p><p>peter's father is alive in canon (peter says in 3x15 that when he goes home he still drinks beer and watches baseball games with his father) but idk about his mother</p><p>i also forgot neal said that he was an aries in 4x08. funnily enough, that works with the fake birthday i gave to neal. i gave him an earlier real birthday for this fic, though, which means that neal and bryce are actually pisces. do with that information what you will.</p><p>at the beginning of this chapter, neal is drawing <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lament_for_Icarus#/media/File:Herbert_Draper_-_The_Lament_for_Icarus_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg">"the lament for icarus" by herbert draper (1898)</a></p><p><a href="https://blogs.scientificamerican.com/observations/the-mathematical-legacy-of-william-thurston-1946-2012/">william thurston</a> did some really complicated math i don't understand and some of his theorems are still unsolved. seemed like the type of nerd shit peter and chuck and bryce would be into</p><p><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hodge_conjecture#:~:text=In%20mathematics%2C%20the%20Hodge%20conjecture,algebraic%20variety%20to%20its%20subvarieties">the hodge conjecture</a> is an unsolved theorem from mathematician william vance douglas hodge but more importantly it's an homage to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/117048/chapters/163405">"the seven habits of highly effective conmen" by onyourmark</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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